


The Songbird and the White Wolf

by Processpending



Series: The Biker and the Songbird [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Biker AU, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Found Family, Geraskier, Hospitals, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:15:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 128,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27055540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Processpending/pseuds/Processpending
Summary: Picking up just days after where The Biker and the Songbird left off, Geralt knew the road to recovery wouldn't be easy, but he'd hoped the worst of it was behind them.But when an unexpected incident threatens to derail Jaskier's recovery and brings up Geralt's own messy past, he'll have to let Jaskier in or risk losing all they've built together.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Biker and the Songbird [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1801612
Comments: 988
Kudos: 255





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [veritasrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/veritasrose/gifts).



> Welcome lovely readers! I am so excited and nervous to share this sequel with you and I mean that in the best way possible.  
> A huge thank you to all who said they wanted a sequel and weren't ready to leave the Biker AU quite yet.  
> And a huge thank you to VeritasRose, without whom this sequel would not have happened. She asked all kinds of wonderful questions about backstories and asked "What if..." again and again.  
> Now, onto the reason you've all clicked here...

_Ten...nine..._

The roar of the White Wolf rises as one as Jaskier heads for the bar, Geralt absent from his place against the wall. 

_Eight...seven…_

Looking back towards the stage Jaskier hopes they’d just passed each other in the crowd.

_Six...five…_

Jaskier scans the shifting crowd, only finding Lambert and Eskel weaving their way closer. 

_Four....three..._

Triss is beside him, grinning and saying something he doesn’t bother to catch.

_Two….one..._

Yennefer reaches them, Jaskier surrounded by his family, all but the one he wants most. As everyone in the White Wolf howls _One,_ Jaskier’s heart sinks, he’d wanted this year to start great, in his boyfriend’s arms. 

Familiar arms wrap around his waist, “Happy New Years Jaskier.” The year ticks over in Geralt’s embrace, a kiss that promises a new start, a better year ahead. 

Breaking apart Jaskier laughs as Yennefer and Triss descend on them, Lambert and Eskel bearing cheeks stained with lipstick kisses. 

It will be a _happy_ new year.

o~O~o

“Don’t change.” Geralt’s suggestion is muffled by Jaskier’s neck, hands sliding around his waist as Jaskier leans back into him.

“Geralt.” Jaskier sighs, more exasperation than acceptance. 

“You’re home, you’ll feel better in them anyway.” Jaskier stiffens at the implication and Geralt, words having failed him again, tries a different approach. Sliding his hands around Jaskier’s waist, Geralt pays special care to the faint red marks from where his boxers have bitten in, Jaskier shivering in his arms, slowly relaxing as Geralt assures him he’s not disgusted by his recovering body.

Jaskier relents finally with the agreement that Geralt will stay equally leisurely clad, a sight Jaskier knows he’ll never grow tired of. 

Geralt doesn’t expect Jaskier to mark the careful way he carries himself down the stairs, his steps stilted and knuckles white on the bannister. Thinks Jaskier misses the way he stalls until Jaskier is busy in the fridge, deciding what juice to have with breakfast before he attempts to reach for the skillets he needs hanging above the island, teeth gating the groan that threatens. 

It’s only when he hefts the heavy cast iron skillet, his jaw tightening against the white pain in his back does Jaskier comment and Geralt realizes he’s been noticed all along.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Jaskier chides.

“It’s fine.” 

“Then there _is_ something wrong.” The confirmation hollow rather than satisfying.

“I spent the night hauling kegs and cases of beer, forgive me if I’m not quick enough to your breakfast.” Geralt snaps, pain making the words sharp. “Jaskier,” Geralt sighs, no apology large enough to heal the hurt he’s inflicted.

“You need a _nap_.” Jaskier is there, nudging him aside he easily takes the spatula from surprise slackened fingers.

“You don’t–” Geralt starts. 

“I’m not as useless as I look.” Jaskier cuts him off, dumping the egg mixture into the skillet.

“Jaskier–”

“Hush, I’m making breakfast.” Jaskier presses a quick kiss to Geralt’s lips before shifting so he’s between Geralt and the stove, leaving Geralt little choice but to take over the setup Jaskier has taken as his own contribution. 

Breakfast is at least edible if not up to its usual delicious standard. Scrambled eggs and cinnamon swirl pancakes that aren’t quite round, but all that matters to Geralt is the way Jaskier beams when he takes seconds. Jaskier is quick off his stool, as though the ting of Geralt resting his fork on the empty plate is the signal he’s been waiting for, Jaskier makes quick work of gathering the dishes and depositing them in the sink.

“They can wait, I’ll do them later.” Jaskier gives a guilty glance over his shoulder before murmuring a quiet reassurance to himself. “Yes, later.” As he ushers Geralt towards the living room.

“ _Jaskier_.” Geralt growls and Jaskier’s hands abruptly stop where they’d been pulling Geralt’s shirt up.

Big blue eyes peering up innocently. “I’m going to give you a massage.” 

“And you need me shirtless?” Jaskier had yet to see Geralt shirtless again since the first time he spent the night, the man having gotten creative in his morning routine. 

“Of course, it’s–you’ve never had one.” Jaskier trails off, the realization softening his words. It’s the slightest shift of Geralt’s weight, the only indication he’s deeply bothered, either by his revelation or embarrassment, Jaskier doesn’t know but he does know he can’t fuck this up.

“Say the word and we’ll stop.” Jaskier offers, hoping Geralt will at least let him try.

“Mmm.” Geralt acquiesces. Jaskier skims off his shirt, fingers skittering over his sides, teasingly trailing along the waistband of his soft sleeping pants slung low on his hips. 

“Lay down on the couch.” Jaskier instructs, holding Geralt long enough to press a kiss to his lips before lightly pushing him away. “On your stomach.” He corrects and he watches Geralt war with the urge to yank his shirt back on, but Jaskier standing before him in his own soft pants, old t-shirt clinging to his belly is enough of a reminder and so he settles on the couch on his stomach, folded arms pillowing his head.

Jaskier perches on the edge of the couch next to his hips, his thumbs digging into the dip of Geralt’s back, a pain so delicious his body sends mixed signals and just as soon as it starts, it stops with Jaskier’s muttered, “Oh, shoot. I’ll be right back.” 

Jaskier is off the couch and up the stairs, Geralt watching in puzzlement, with each second ticking by his abandoned shirt taunts him, here in the stark light of day, Jaskier had gotten a good look at the ruin that is his back and fled. Geralt’s movement is arrested by the searing pain in his back, braced on his forearms he sucks air through his teeth, the sleepless night weakening his resolve.

“Got it, this will...did you need something?” Jaskier slows his return to the couch as he takes in Geralt, but he just shakes his head and eases himself to lying once more. After the briefest hesitation during which Jaskier studies Geralt he resumes his seat. 

There’s a click and the familiar and uniquely Jaskier scent fills the room, “Sorry, you don’t seem the lotion type and I didn’t want to rummage–”

“Hmm, smells nice.” Jaskier’s ramble ceases at Geralt’s admittance, the scent delicate, flowery but with an underlying spiciness Geralt can’t place, a blend he knows only as Jaskier. 

Calloused fingertips are on him once more, but this time there’s a softness to them, gliding over the sensitive patches of his skin. Nimble fingers strengthened by years of guitar playing deftly work the knot at the base of Geralt’s spine, smoothing the wings of his shoulder blades, strung so tight Jaskier is surprised they haven’t snapped. 

Jaskier works, softening his pressure as Geralt eases under his ministrations, until a restful sleep claims him. 

o~O~o

Geralt wakes to music playing, not the soulless recording his radio offers up, no this is a soul bared in every chord. Shifting he’s startled by an unfamiliar softness caressing his skin, it takes his hand skimming over the fabric before his mind supplies it as the blanket Jaskier had given him for Christmas. 

Opening his eyes, Geralt finds Jaskier on the floor, leaning back against the couch, the refillable leather journal Eskel had made him for Christmas pinned open beside him. Geralt would happily stay as they were for hours more but Jaskier’s phone skitters across the floor, Jaskier swiping away the alarm and carefully setting his mom’s guitar to the side. 

Jaskier unfolds from the floor, taking a measured breath once standing, hand pressed to his stomach, unguarded, not yet aware of Geralt’s concerned gaze. Geralt shifts, making his presence known before Jaskier catches him watching and agonizes over the past several moments. 

Geralt watches Jaskier’s hand drops from his stomach, the pain that had tightened his features smoothing out and he wonders how often Jaskier has employed this particular skill. 

“You’re just in time, lunch is ready. Probably.” Jaskier half shrugs, a crooked smile on his lips before he disappears into the kitchen, the sound of the oven creaking open and the beep of it being shut off pulling Geralt from the couch as he eyes his shirt. He’s fairly certain Jaskier would prefer him without, if for no other reason than for a reminder of his victory but Geralt had few rules he absolutely adhered to and refusing to eat at the kitchen table shirtless was one of them. 

Jaskier is surprised to find Geralt behind him when he turns, plates in hand, “Oh, I was going to bring it to you.” Lunch turns out to be one of the Jaskier-friendly casseroles Geralt had tucked in the freezer, rice and shredded chicken, light on the spices. 

“Yennefer is really excited for her spa day.” Geralt comments, hoping to distract Jaskier. He’d made a strong attempt at his portion, but Geralt hadn’t missed the food being pushed around his plate rather than eaten.

“I don’t know who’s more excited, her or Ciri.” Jaskier laughs. Once Ciri learned what a trip to the spa entailed she’d been disappointed she wasn’t going with Yennefer, the idea of getting her nails painted driving her interest. However, the spa quickly lost it’s shine when she learned she would be spending the day with Jaskier, a whole new countdown app installed on Yennefer’s phone just for the occasion. 

Geralt’s ploy works so well he wishes it hadn’t, Jaskier’s movements guarded as he works at putting away the leftovers. It’s Geralt’s turn to urge Jaskier away from the dishes, the breakfast dishes having been cleaned and set in the drying rack sometime while he slept. 

Leading him back to the living room, Geralt gathers up the blanket before settling against the arm of the couch, legs stretched before him, it takes some arranging but soon enough Jaskier is in his lap, leaning back against him and Geralt spreads the blanket across them.

Stretching to the side, Geralt retrieves their latest book from the coffee table, propping it open with one hand he picks up where they left off, his other hand sneaking beneath the blankets, seeking Jaskier. His stomach is easy enough to find, hand slipping under his shirt he rubs soothing circles, Jaskier growing heavier as he relaxes and the afternoon slips closer to evening with each turn of the page.

Geralt sets the books aside, concern drawing his features as he watches Jaskier head for the bathroom, hand pressed to his stomach, regret filling him for persuading him to eat more at lunch. 

Jaskier returns to find the couch cold, the blanket tossed over the back and the book in its resting place on the table. He debates the merits of searching out Geralt, his aching stomach urging him to sit at the very least if he can’t bring himself to go upstairs and curl up in his music note blanket. 

Geralt appears from the kitchen then, tray laden with the tea set, steam curling from the spout of the kettle and with one look at Jaskier he sets it on the coffee table.

“Want to stay down here or head up to bed?” Geralt asks, resting his hands on Jaskier’s hips, thumbs moving in absent circles. Jaskier’s eyes slowly move from the tea set to the fire to the couch before settling back on Geralt, knowing the man wouldn’t hesitate to go wherever he would be most comfortable.

“Here, for a little while longer?” Jaskier asks. With a fond smile and nod Geralt sets about pouring their tea before resuming his place on the couch. Jaskier settling back in his lap with cautious movements before sorting them out, draping them with the blanket once more, he passes Geralt his cup of tea, cradling his own as Geralt resumes reading once more. 

Jaskier loves watching the sun’s retreat from the trees, the bright white of the snow purpling to night, the nightly ache of his belly soothed by Geralt’s tea, his hand on the swell once more, thumb absently rubbing circles where it rests. 

Jaskier lets his limbs grow heavy, settling into the first night of the new year and the idea that this could be every night if he so wished. And he did.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier knows he doesn’t deserve Geralt’s kindness, has done nothing to earn it but he reasons he’ll relish it tonight, his last night of weakness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Oh thank you so much for being here! I really appreciate you reading!  
> A huge thanks to the lovely VeritasRose who *still* betas this monster of a fic. 
> 
> Many have...not inquired per se but noted the lurking angst. Which I love!  
> So all I can say about this chapter, dear readers, is, Let's see you grit those teeth.

“Hey Yennefer how was–” Jaskier gets no further as Yennefer wraps him in a tight hug, her fingers digging in as his eyes jump from Geralt to Triss to Eskel, grin widening. “I take it you liked your day at the spa.” 

Pulling back Yennefer keeps hold of his shoulders, “Thank you, Jaskier. It was...needed.” There’s something in her eyes that tells him the day carried more in it than just getting a massage and her nails done. 

“Mommy, lookit!” Ciri bounds over, holding up her hands, nails painted a deep shade of purple. “We’s got matching ones.” Ciri looks expectantly at Jaskier who offers his own hand, nails carefully painted to match hers. 

“Looks like you had fun.” Yennefer guides Ciri over to the table, already set with dinner, just waiting for its occupants to arrive. “I see your skills have improved.” Yennefer comments, taking in the mermaid braid Ciri’s hair has been woven into. 

Geralt’s eyes flick to Jaskier as Ciri crows, “Jaskier gave me mermaid hair, mommy!” 

“I see. You know you’re going to have to teach me that now don’t you.” Yennefer mock glares at Jaskier who ducks his head grinning. 

The easy rhythm of plates being passed and filled is taken up as Ciri regales Yennefer of her day with Geralt and Jaskier.

“I learned a new chord, too. One more and I can learn a song.” Ciri proudly tells her, having insisted she take her guitar with her just in case Jaskier wanted to teach her. Yennefer briefly tells them of her day at the spa, Triss the only one intrigued while the boys scoff at things like face masks and body wraps. 

Geralt doesn’t give it a second thought when Jaskier nudges his plate towards him, a small pile of the shredded chicken and rice next to the seasoned green beans he couldn’t manage to finish either; just settles it on his own empty one and finishes it off. 

“Thought you two lived together now.” Yennefer teases, Jaskier looking up from where he’s wiping down the table to see Geralt holding a familiar take-out container in his hands.

“Doesn’t mean Betty should miss out.” Jaskier reasons, grins and head shakes all around. 

“She asks after you anytime I talk to her, she didn’t tell me she sees you at least once a week.” Eskel says. Jaskier shrugs, ducking his head. The first week they’d shown up on Sunday, to-go container in hand, Betty had been surprised, grateful but surprised and then even more so the second week. Jaskier hopes this time will be enough to show her it’s tradition and not just a fluke of his leaving that will taper off with time. With a round of goodbyes, they take their leave, one very important stop before they head home for the night.

“You know you don’t need to do this.” Betty reminds him, though the appreciative smile on her face tells him all he needs to know. 

“And miss a chance to see my best girl?” 

Betty shakes her head and looks at Geralt, “He always this smooth?” 

Geralt pretends to study Jaskier, “No.” Jaskier makes an affronted noise but Geralt just wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him close and Jaskier happily snuggles into his side.

“Did the tulip bulbs come in? We still planting...next weekend?” Jaskier asks.

“I’m to pick them up sometime this week. Let’s hold off a week though, give this weather a chance to settle itself.” With a final goodbye and assurances she’ll call if they need to plant sooner, Jaskier and Geralt head home.

o~O~o

Jaskier has come to dread Friday and Saturday nights as much as anticipates them. He’s starving by the time he’s done with his set, Geralt insisting he still only plays until he would normally take his break and be done for the night. Jaskier had insisted he could play the full set like he used to, especially since he wasn’t at the grocery store anymore but Geralt hadn’t relented. 

Though he was reluctant to admit it, Jaskier was grateful Geralt didn’t expect him to keep playing after break, he’d hardly eaten today in the hopes of mitigating the pain in his stomach that worsened as the day wore on, his nights often miserable and aching. This also meant that eating on break ended his night, the pain ratcheting up and he would find himself in the office on the couch instead of out in the bar.

"I remember when he was more concerned with playing than stuffing his face." The disembodied voice curls around Jaskier from the crowd, steps faltering. The words are Valdo's, but the voice isn't and somehow that's so much worse.

"Jask?" There's a gentle hand on his shoulder, such concern in the tone. Jaskier has no recollection of walking to the bar, Geralt clearly having said something, decidedly more than one something, but he has no idea what.

Forcing a smile, Jaskier pulls himself onto his stool, _I'm fin_ e dying on his lips at the sight of a smoothie waiting for him, how long has Geralt been subjected to these comments?

"If you want something–"

"No." Jaskier yanks the glass towards him, the smoothie sloshing up the side. This was what he was supposed to have, less in him meant less hurting and bloating and maybe he could play another set or at the very least maybe Geralt won’t be so disgusted with him by the time they get home. 

Jaskier forces himself to drink the smoothie, the man’s words like a hand around his neck, each sip harder to get down as they grow louder and louder. It becomes mechanical, he doesn’t have to taste it, doesn’t _need_ to, this is better, less is better. 

Yennefer’s eyebrows raise a fraction more and Jaskier realizes he’s missed yet another question. “I’m fine.” He means to wave the unknown question away but it comes off jerky and she looks to Geralt, a silent conversation passing between them. 

Jaskier’s stomach aches, the coldness worsening the cramps or maybe that’s just his own shame, all he knows is that he wants things he doesn’t deserve; to go home, to have Geralt hold him, to tell him that man was wrong. Jaskier can’t find the words he needs to say, the ones that will excuse him to the office, the ones that will relieve them of the burden that is his existence.

“You ready to go?” Geralt’s words snap Jaskier around and he thinks for the briefest of moments he’s lost time again but the bar is still full and a fresh shame washes through him, of course Geralt would want to take him home.

“I can wait in the office.” Jaskier doesn’t mean the words to sound like a plea and Geralt’s frown deepens. Sliding from his stool Jaskier follows Geralt down the hall, Geralt ducking into the office but it’s only to retrieve their jackets and Jaskier tries to hide the wince as he pulls his on. 

The ride home is stilted, Geralt tangling their hands on the seat between them and Jaskier doesn’t know what to make of it. Is Geralt proud of him for accepting the smoothie and not asking for something else? Is he trying to console him for being weak? 

“I’m sorry the smoothie made you sick, I’d hoped it would be easier on your stomach. We can try something else tomorrow night.” Surprise holds Jaskier’s tongue, maybe Geralt hadn’t heard the words but Geralt mistakes the silence and continues. “I know you want to get back to playing the second set and you will, but I’m proud of you for holding off.” Geralt glances at Jaskier as they slow to a stop at a stoplight. Hope wells in Jaskier and with it a smile. 

“The smoothie was fine.” Jaskier manages, knowing he needs to say something, even if it is inane. Geralt looks doubtful but Jaskier presses on, “Think I just drank it too fast.” Geralt doesn’t look convinced but he also doesn’t press further. 

Jaskier is grateful to be home, blindly following Geralt through the darkened house they head for bed. Jaskier is unable to completely bite back the hiss that escapes as he undoes his pinched jeans, the skin red and tender underneath, quickly yanking on a loose t-shirt he wills Geralt not to comment. 

Geralt frowns but with gentle hands encourages Jaskier into bed, laying on his side, arm about Jaskier’s shoulders as he tries to work himself closer. Jaskier’s stomach presses into his side and with a frustrated whimper his hands fist in Geralt’s shirt, hot tears soaking through his shirt, tired of being all bones and belly. Geralt gently encourages him to turn over, pressing his front flush against Jaskier’s back, he rests his arm on Jaskier’s hip, hand splaying over his stomach just holds him, not knowing the words Jaskier needs.

o~O~o

 _I remember when he was more concerned with playing than stuffing his face_ and I remember when my pants fit.

No matter how hard Jaskier tugs he’s going to have to admit his pants could no longer be done up, tears burning his eyes as he tries one last time before he’d admit to Geralt he couldn’t go to Sunday dinner. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt lingers in the doorway, leaving him no option but to turn and bare his sins. 

“I can’t go to dinner.” The admittance a whisper, his hand tugging the bottom of his shirt, loose everywhere else only to pull snug over his stomach, highlighting his shame. 

“It’s ok, Jask, we’ll stay home.” Geralt offers, stepping into their bedroom.

The concern drawing his features hurts so much worse and Jaskier can barely bring himself to admit, “I’m not sick.” 

Geralt takes this in, confusion turning to hurt as he thinks Jaskier doesn't want to go and slowly says, “That’s fine, they’ll understand.” _They_ would but Geralt would never forgive him and that makes it so much easier to admit, “My pants don’t fit.” 

Geralt’s face softens, thumb swiping away the tears Jaskier hadn’t realized slipped free. “We’ll stay home.” Geralt offers again and Jaskier can see how their night would go in Geralt’s eyes, he’d make them dinner and then hold him on the couch, soothing the ensuing ache and reassuring him he’s loved. 

"You should go. I’ll be fine.” Jaskier encourages. He knows his version of fine varies drastically from Geralt’s but right now he’s all too happy to pull back on his sleep pants and go to bed wrapped in music note blanket.

Geralt studies him for a moment before asking, “But you _want_ to go to dinner?” Any other time this would be a loaded question for Jaskier, but tonight it’s easy enough for him to murmur yes, ducking his head in shame as Geralt nods to himself and walks away. He disappears into their closet and Jaskier wonders if it’s better to stay in the clothes he’s in until Geralt left or if it mattered if he changed while he was home when Geralt reappears, shirt in hand. 

Geralt slides gentle hands under Jaskier’s shirt, skimming his fingers over his hips and up his ribs as he pulls the small shirt off, replacing it with one of his own. It’s obviously too big, collar hanging low and loose in the chest but it’s long enough to mask his unbuttoned pants. 

The ride to White Wolf is quiet, Jaskier subconsciously tugging at the hem of the shirt and Geralt wonders if maybe they should have just stayed home, skipped this week and gotten Jaskier some clothes that he’s comfortable in, but he can see it being twisted into shame and that’s never something he’s felt with Jaskier. 

“Thought you’d gotten lost.” Triss teases from where she’s getting everyone’s drinks as soon as they step into the bar. Geralt wills them not to comment on Jaskier obviously wearing one of his old shirts, wonders if he might get word to Yennefer, knowing she’s good at passing messages along unheard but the fear this would only draw more attention to what’s feasibly a non-issue stalls him. 

Jaskier slips into his usual seat as quickly as he can, Ciri all too happy to keep him company and check on the status of the friendship bracelet she’d made him, excited to see it’s starting to wear thin and he’ll need a new one soon. 

“What are we playing tonight?” Triss asks as she doles out drinks, the others lining up the food on the bar, buffet style. 

“Monopoly?” Ciri asks hopefully, a shudder running through most present at mention of the game that never ends.

“We’re playing by speed rules then.” Triss is quick to note in a tone that makes Jaskier think there’s a story behind her insistence. 

“No.” Lambert drags out the word, sounding more like Ciri with each new beat. “We can never keep them straight and the game takes just as long as if we played normally.” 

“Ok, Game of Life? And you _have_ to pick college or career from the deck, you can't write one in.” Yennefer offers, Lambert’s scowl answer enough. 

“Uno, again?” It’s clear from Eskel’s tone he isn’t too taken with the idea of that game again either. 

“Catan?” Ciri proposes innocently, wriggling in her chair as Yennefer narrows her eyes at her.

“You played us.” Ciri’s grin widens as Yennefer shakes her head, the other’s laughter filling the bar. “Alright, you’ve earned it.” Jaskier is all too willing to set up the board with Ciri, delaying the inevitable need to approach the bar and get a plate of food he doesn’t need but knows he has to have. 

“Is you cold?” Ciri’s question pulls Jaskier from where he’d been glaring at the counter as though he could will the need away.

“Hmm? Oh.” It wasn’t hard to understand Ciri’s question once his brain processed what she’d asked and with some awkward rearrangement Jaskier freed himself from the coat and draped it across the chair back without rising. 

Geralt sets a plate for him next to his drink on the table, shame welling alongside Jaskier’s hunger at the sight. It was nothing unusual, rotisserie chicken, biscuits and southern green beans, but it smells wonderful and his stomach lets out a betraying growl, Geralt smiling like it’s the best thing he’s heard as Jaskier’s cheeks burn. 

Jaskier tells himself he’s only going to eat half, surreptitiously dividing each thing into two piles but the game distracts him and before he knows it the plate is empty, Geralt easily stacking it on his own cleaned one. _No wonder your pants don’t fit_. Tears burn Jaskier’s eyes, fingers pinching the softness at his hips, mimicking the biting pain of his waistband he’d grown to rely on to keep him in check, absent now.

“You ok?” Geralt’s voice is low, his eyes concerned and Jaskier follows his gaze, realizing Geralt thinks his stomach is hurting from the arm he’s wrapped around it.

“Yeah.” Jaskier forces himself to loosen his grip, casually bringing it up to rest on the table as they clear the board and set it for another round. The reset means food break and Jaskier keeps himself rooted to his seat, willing the lingering hunger to go away on its own but Geralt returns with two plates of something Jaskier can’t identify but knows it will be good because he made it.

Jaskier ignores the plate Geralt places next to him, putting all his focus on the game, pointedly looking anywhere else. But his mind is traitorous and he doesn’t realize he’s taken up the fork, nibbling at the bread or that he's made a pleased hum at the taste. Ciri’s giggles pull his attention to find smiles all around the table directed at him, laughing nervously he asks, “What?”

“Nothing.” Yennefer is quick to answer.

Geralt shrugs when Jaskier turns to him, murmuring, “It’s good to see you eat.” Sending a pang through him that nearly drops the fork from his fingers. Of course. How much longer before even Geralt’s clothes won’t fit him? The delicious dessert twists in his stomach and Jaskier knows he won’t be finishing the last few bites. 

Geralt can tell Jaskier is hurting when their stop at Betty’s is subdued, little more than dropping off the food and confirming the tulip planting the following weekend. 

“You want some tea?” Geralt asks as he follows Jaskier into the living room. Jaskier gives a longing look at the couch, knowing tea came with a toasty fire and Geralt reading but the offer only serves to hunch his shoulders. 

“I’m gonna go to bed.” The words concern Geralt, Jaskier must really be hurting if he’s going directly to bed but he doesn’t press, only follows him up the steps, watching as Jaskier trades jeans for sleep pants before climbing into bed and curling on his side. 

Geralt takes his time undressing, playing back the night and wondering how he thought dragging Jaskier to dinner in pants that can’t button was a good idea, but he ate and he seemed to enjoy it so maybe it wasn’t all terrible. Geralt eases himself onto the bed, moving so he’s pressed against Jaksier, slipping his hand under the borrowed shirt he gently rubs his stomach, hoping to soothe the ache. 

Jaskier is grateful for the first time that his belly keeps them apart, that he’d been sleeping with his back pressed to Geralt’s front instead so he doesn’t see the tears tracking down his cheeks. He’d failed twice tonight, the uncomfortable fullness reminding him Valdo was right, he can’t control himself around sweets. 

Jaskier knows he doesn’t deserve Geralt’s kindness, has done nothing to earn it but he reasons he’ll relish it tonight, his last night of weakness.

o~O~o

“You sure you want to do this?” Macee asks, skeptically eyeing his ratty Converse and the spare basketball shorts he’d slipped from Geralt’s gym bag. 

Honestly, Jaskier didn’t have any desire to run but his reflection’s cherubic cheeks that morning and his increasingly tightening pants was enough of a motivator to make him keep his date with Macee. 

“Yeah, it’ll be great.” Jaskier realizes he’s oversold it as Macee’s head snaps up from where she’d been retying her shoe. 

“You hate running. You tell me all the time I’m depraved for finding it fun.” She counters, eyes narrowing. 

"I," Jaskier hesitates but it's Macee and she's always been able to tell these things. 

"You want to get rid of our food baby." She mock gasps. "After all these years together, sharing my snack pockets..." Jaskier laughs.

"Geralt..."

"No, I understand, it's a custody issue. Fine. He can have weekends." Macee sighs. "Seriously though, you don't need to do this. That's hardly anything." _Hardly anything_ was the kindest description for what Jaskier perceived to be his growing problem as he looked pregnant and had noticed stretch marks starting to creep up his sides. He’d taken to wearing Geralt’s shirts more often than not, his own uncomfortably snug and creeping up over his belly. 

Jaskier shifts, he wants to believe her, to not feel embarrassed the next time Geralt surprises him by coming home for lunch, smiling like it was the greatest thing to find him still in sleep pants. It was just running, he reasons, he’s still eating and it might even help him feel less tired all the time or the uncomfortable always-full feeling. 

The run starts easy enough, Macee setting the pace and Jaskier easily matching it in the beginning, the trail around the park’s lake pretty and flat. It doesn’t take long for his muscles to protest, the exhilaration turning into a burn, his breaths becoming ragged and he wants to take a break, the words lining up on his tongue... _More concerned with playing than stuffing his face_ …

Jaskier ignores the tightening in his chest, Macee saying something but he can’t catch the words over gasped breaths, his mind stuck on the need for air that’s everywhere but inside him. He’s not certain if he trips or if his legs simply can’t carry him any further, the ground rough and cold under his palms...his palms? He doesn't remember sitting down. 

Macee’s face swims before him, she’s saying something, over and over again, but his chest still hurts and his thoughts swim and he thinks he might be sick but he doesn’t remember how that goes anymore either. 

“...they’re on their way.” Macee presses the words upon him and Jaskier nods, _knowing_ they’re important but not sure why. 

Good, Geralt is on his way. On his way. On his... _not good._

“No, no. He can’t...I haven’t…” Jaskier tries to protest but there’s not enough air or maybe there’s too much, biting at his exposed skin, cold creeping under the long sleeves. Macee is there...or she was...but she’s gone and Jaskier wants to go home but going home means getting up and his legs still feel shaky and his chest really hurts and maybe he’ll just lay down but the ground is cold and he just wants Geralt. 

“Jask,” There’s a new cold being pressed against him, forcing Jaskier to drag his eyes open, the better to protest with but it’s only Macee, pressing a water bottle into his hands. “Take some sips.” 

Jaskier argues, or he means to, but Macee’s insistent like she always is and Jaskier raises the shaking bottle to his lips, a new coldness trickling down his chin. 

Macee bullies him into sip after sip until his breathing slows and his eyes lose their dazed look, until he’s shivering on the ground before her and apologizing and she knows he’s come back to himself.

“Sorry, guess I’m really not built for running.” Jaskier’s smile is weak. Macee doesn’t get a chance to respond as two paramedics come jogging up.

“Ma’am, were you the one that called?” Macee gives the paramedics a flat look Jaskier would find funny if he wasn’t the reason for them being called.

“You didn’t.” Jaskier murmurs.

“I _did._ ” Macee says, turning that flat look on Jaskier who finds it even less funny. “We were running, he couldn’t breathe and went down, kinda checked out too.” 

The taller of the two, a man, kneels beside Jaskier, checking him over as Jaskier fights to control the trembling in his limbs and remind himself he’s ok, he’s safe. “My name is James and I’ll be checking you over today. Are you able to walk sir?” 

Jaskier’s nod is jerky and he wills his legs to hold him as the woman, who introduces herself as Sheila, moves to his other side and together they pull him to his feet, their hands bracing and warm when he sways and the world flickers black before settling into the dull gray of late January. 

They support him to the nearby ambulance, the back warm and blocking the wind that’s whipping strands from Macee’s braid as she huddles against the bumper. He’s wrapped in a blanket as James and Sheila exchange numbers and words that are only familiar in the sense Jaskier’s seen medical dramas. 

It’s not so much the information as the tone and looks exchanged that alert Jaskier to impending news he’s not going to like. 

“Alright sir, your vitals look fine but your BP is a little low. We’re gonna take you in just to get you checked out. Fit young man like yourself doesn’t usually collapse on a run. It’s just procedure, alright?” 

“Oh, ambulance ride, this day has everything.” Macee winks at Jaskier as she pulls herself up into the back of the ambulance and onto the hard bench beside him.

“You can’t.” Jaskier tells her.

“We cool to do this?” Macee asks James who shrugs, securing equipment. 

“See.” Macee gestures towards James, not missing the once steady beep ratcheting up.

“No, no...you...have….” Jaskier’s pleas are carried on ragged breaths. Sheila eyes James, a conversation passing between them that has her twisting gauges as he produces an oxygen mask, smoothing out the tubing as he explains to Jaskier.

“I need you to calm down, I know it feels hard to breathe, is your chest tight?” Jaskier gives a jerky nod, his attention never straying from Macee as he wills her to understand. “This is just going to help you breathe, nice and easy breaths for me ok. We’ve gotta go.” This last is directed at Macee, her mouth tight as she struggles to figure out what has her friend so upset.

“Go…” Jaskier insists. 

“With _you_. Yes, great plan. Shall we?” Macee looks expectantly to James who meets her glare as he slides off the bench.

“ _Work_.” Jaskier squeezes her hand, it’s not the force but the cold of his fingers that garners her attention. 

“You seriously think I’m sending you to the hospital and going to _work_?” Macee’s tone incredulous. 

“Please....trouble.” Jaskier is tired, his breaths easier but the panic that had fueled his body is receding and in its place is a weariness he hasn’t felt in months. 

“Ma’am, we need to go.” James urges. 

Macee bites her lip, she doesn’t want to leave him but he’ll worry more with her there and she curses her consistently late ass and how he knows she’s on her final strike and that her at his side will only stress him more. So with a final squeeze of his hand and a promise that he’ll keep her updated she jumps down from the back of the ambulance. 

“He’s in good hands.” Sheila tries to reassure Macee but the words ring hollow from a stranger. 

James slams the doors closed, calling the hospital they’re headed to and Macee digs her phone out of her pocket as she watches the ambulance carrying her best friend rocket away, lights coloring the gray January morning.

After a few taps she puts the phone to her ear, the ring echoing the ambulance’s siren. “White Wolf.” 

“Is Geralt around?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *admires angst confetti raining down*  
> Isn't it glorious? Ok, I mean, angstfetti is sharp and your feels may be looking a little ragged but! It's only the second chapter and Things are happening. 
> 
> You know I love hearing your reactions! 
> 
> Also, I'm on the tumbles under process-pending where I post updates and scraps for this fic.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The words a prayer and a promise, a pardon and a plea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooo! Lovely readers! I can't thank you enough for coming here yet again. And this chapter I have been so very excited to share with you! 
> 
> An unencompassable thank you to VeritasRose who betas this monster and nudges it around so it's just right.

A nurse twitches aside the curtain, “Hun, your boyfriend is here to see you. Would you like him to come back?” Jaskier doesn’t know how Macee did it but he is forever grateful to her for getting word to Geralt. 

“Yes, please.” The nurse disappears and Jaskier spends the few moments occupying himself with smoothing the many wires hooked to him and decidedly not thinking how disappointed Geralt is going to be at being called away. 

“Jaskier.” The monitor’s screech drowns out Jaskier’s whispered, “Valdo.” 

“Imagine my surprise when I get a call from the hospital telling me my boyfriend is in the ER.”

“No.” Jaskier little more than mouths the word, pressing his hand to his chest as though enough pressure will ease the returning pain, breathing becoming a voluntary action.

“I _guess_ I’ll take you back. I mean, you were doing so good when you were with me and look at you now. Do you even have anything that fits? Was he even able to fuck you with that gut in the way? Probably gave you pity jobs when you got too big to reach around it. It’ll be months before you’re even _close_ to being presentable for gigs but–” 

“ _Marx_.” Geralt growls, a sharp twist in his chest when Jaskier whimpers but he doesn’t take his eyes from the monster before him. 

“Oh, I’m impressed. Call both of us and see which one would come rescue–”

“Get. Out.” Geralt bites the words out, a warning that can’t be mistaken for a suggestion.

“Mr. Pancratz, are you–” The nurse comes up short at the sight of the standoff before her. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” She pushes past them, expecting them to see themselves out as she works at silencing the monitors. 

“ _Out_. Or I will call security.” She snaps, fighting to fix the oxygen mask over her patient’s face, having curled on his side making it more difficult. 

Marx casts a final glare in Jaskier’s direction, smirking at the soft mewl he earns but Geralt shifting next to him has him whipping the curtain to the side and stalking back through the emergency room. 

“I’ll not have you upsetting my patient, I’m calling security.” The slowly steadying beep of the monitor ramps up once more.

“Geralt.” His name is lost to the din of the hospital, the only indication he’s spoken is the fogging of his mask and Geralt is at his side in mere steps. 

“Jask, I’m here, you’re safe.” He doesn’t know where it’s safe to touch, hands hovering over the many wires and IV line tangling around, belatedly recognizing the shirt as one of his own. The numbers creep back down to a ratio that doesn’t have the nurse’s hand hovering over the call button. 

“The doctor will be in with you shortly.” The nurse gives them one last measuring look but it’s clear _this_ was the expected boyfriend and so she closes the curtain. 

Geralt knows Jaskier is saying something, the mask fogging and his lips moving but it’s so soft it’s lost to the hum of the ER. Geralt gently clasps the hand without the IV, careful not to dislodge the pulse ox. “Jask?” 

Jaskier curls tighter, his shoulders hunching as Valdo’s words play over and over in his head, shame burning through him. “I understand, Valdo was right, I’ve let myself go and you deserve someone better.” The words are broken, spoken with a detachedness Geralt’s never heard and never wants to hear again. 

The silence is filled with the words Geralt fears, the ones that will take Jaskier from him, the ones he knows are coming but can’t bear to hear. “I’m sorry, Jask. _Nothing_ that monster spewed is true. Please, I know I should have cared for you better, shown you everyday how much I love you, please give me another chance.” Geralt fights his own tears back, not wanting to upset Jaskier more. His words seem to work as Jaskier’s hitching breaths smooth back out and he slowly uncurls.

“You’re not...leaving me?” Surprised blue eyes peer at him over the mask.

Geralt’s knees buckle at Jaskier’s question and he swears, in that moment, he’ll be better, that he’ll show Jaskier the plans for the music studio and do whatever it takes for him to realize he’s not in this alone. The pause has carried on too long and in it Jaskier’s panic has flourished, 

“I’m not going anywhere. I love you and I’m worried about you. I’m here, ok. I’m here.” Geralt assures him, pressing a kiss to his forehead, lingering when Jaskier leans into it. 

Geralt helps Jaskier rearrange so he’s sitting in bed once more, Geralt dragging the lone chair closer after Jaskier tries to convince him to join him on the bed. “I doubt they would appreciate that.” 

“I miss you. I want…” Jaskier doesn’t have to say it, Geralt knows what he wants, what he always wants when he’s hurting–to be held. Geralt stands, thighs pressing into the bed as he wraps his arms around Jaskier who is all too happy to press his side into Geralt. 

“Knock, knock.” Is all the warning they get before the curtain is being pulled aside and a doctor steps in. To her credit she takes in the scene before her with little more than a second blink. “I’m Dr. Lyons and you must be Mr. Pancratz?” 

Jaskier nods tiredly as Geralt reclaims his seat, offering Jaskier his hand who is all too happy to lace their fingers. 

“Ok, I see we have you back on oxygen, but your levels have been holding steady again. If they keep steady we can see about getting you off that when we move you up to a room.” Lyons says, looking over the chart she’d retrieved from the bed, missing Geralt’s head whip towards Jaskier at the mention of again.

“Looks like you were brought in for chest pain and shortness of breath while running, the girl that was with you reported you lost consciousness and seemed confused?” Dr. Lyons looks up from the chart to Jaskier expectantly, the weight of two gazes settling on him sending a spike on the monitor but Jaskier doesn’t dare look at Geralt after hearing his failures read out.

“I’m fine now, it doesn’t hurt anymore.” Jaskier says, wanting to go home. With a final look at his chart Lyons expression changes into one of careful blankness, the one that warns whatever follows isn’t going to be good. 

“The last time you were in, it was for a concussion and we noted another drop in weight, putting you near a dangerous weight percentile. It’s not listed in your chart but have you been diagnosed or sought treatment for an eating disorder?” Though her tone is gentle and free of condemnation Jaskier goes rigid on the bed all the same, his breaths becoming pants and her impassive mask twitches toward concern as she eyes the monitors. 

Geralt squeezes Jaskier’s hand, reassuring as he calmly states, “He was still losing weight a few months ago but he’s been in recovery and doing well.” The words soothe Jaskier but only serve to reinstate Lyons’ mask.

“It looks like your body was in starvation mode for several months and you developed what’s known as mitral valve abnormalities which were exacerbated by bradycardia. Basically what this means is due to the prolonged strain on your body it weakened your heart muscles and that combined with a drop to your already low blood pressure triggered a mild heart attack.” 

Geralt’s hand spasming in his is the only outward sign of his distress, Jaskier’s mind racing and standing still all at once and he knows he should feel something, should ask questions but a numbness has settled about him that’s all too comfortable to fight. 

“I know it can be a bit daunting to have your belly round out, you’re probably not eating much and many people do what you did and try to exercise it away. It’s a natural part of recovery, it’s your body’s way of protecting itself and lasts for about a year. For the foreseeable future you’ll need to take it easy and let your body recover.” 

“A year, you said a year of recovery and then I can…” Jaskier loses the words, his mind stuck on the notion there’s nothing he can do, with every word his body becomes less his own.

“For most people in recovery, yes. However, I’m sorry to say that the damage done to your heart is permanent. You would need to consult with a specialist but it is irreparably damaged and you will need to allow it to recover as well. I know this is a lot to take in but we’ll send you home with information and some names of cardiologists. Did you have any more questions?” 

Geralt contains multitudes of questions but Dr. Lyons can answer exactly none of them and Jaskier shakes his head, blue eyes blown wide and looking just as lost as Geralt feels. 

“Ok, we’ll get you moved up to a room. We’re going to keep you at least overnight for observation and make sure everything is back on a good rhythm.” With a final smile Dr. Lyons disappears back around the curtain. 

"I’m sorry, please don’t go, I’ll be better, I'm not useless, I’ll–” Jaskier's broken pleas fog the mask, growing fainter as he struggles to get more air in.

“Jask, I’m not going anywhere. Ok, I’m here, I’ll always be here.” Geralt gathers him into his arms as best he can, shirt growing damp from Jaskier’s tears. He waits until Jaskier’s breathing has evened out, the tears tapering off before he addresses the other part of Jaskier’s statement.

Geralt forces himself to break Jaskier’s tenuous hold on his shirt as he pulls back, needing to see Jaskier’s face for this. “You’re not useless Jaskier, you never have been and you aren’t now.” Jaskier doesn’t look convinced, like if he had the air he would scoff his words away.

“You’re one of the strongest people I know but more than that, you were asked to join the Witchers. They petitioned for you to join Jaskier because they see how strong you are, all the good you’ll help us do.” Jaskier’s tears drip onto the bed, his head hanging as he shakes it back and forth, silently willing Geralt to stop, but of course he goes unheard.

“No, I’m…” Jaskier huffs mirthlessly as he forces himself to meet Geralt’s eyes, to witness his final shame before the man he loves. “The jacket doesn’t fit. It barely fit at Christmas and now…” Jaskier shrugs, a forced dismissal of his pain. 

Geralt’s entirety is thrumming, faint tremors running through him as he pleads with the universe to grant him this reprieve, for all the ways he’s failed, give him this.

“The jacket doesn’t make you a Witcher, just like this,” Geralt rests his hand on Jaskier’s stomach, “Doesn’t make you useless. I look at you everyday Jask, and seeing this, seeing you healthy and soft makes me happy, it gives him hope for the years to come. Years with you.” 

Jaskier takes a shuddering breath, looking for the glimmer of doubt that shines in everything he’s told but there’s no disgust on Geralt’s face, there’s just a desperation, a need for Jaskier to hear his words and know them true.

“I love you.” It’s all Jaskier can think to say, all he has to offer but it settles the tremors running through him. Geralt stoops, tugging down the oxygen mask just long enough to press a kiss to Jaskier’s lips, not realizing until he’s straightening just how much he needed that. 

“Alright, looks like you get to head on upstairs to one of our suites.” The nurse from earlier is back, putting the locks on the wheelchair after she parks it next to his bed, freeing him from his oxygen mask and the many wires snaking from his shirt.

“I better let them know how you’re doing.” Geralt tells Jaskier, easing him up from the bed and the few steps to the chair without thinking about it, the nurse transferring the IV. 

“Oh...right.” Jaskier doesn’t sound even half as convincing as he means to. 

“They’re all here for you, Yenn, Triss, Eskel, Lambert.” Jaskier is grateful he’s already in the wheelchair as the words knock the air out of him. Of course they would come.

“Who’s running White Wolf?” Jaskier waves away his first question, “I’ll be fine, really, you can all go.” 

Geralt crouches before Jaskier, gathering his unhindered hand, “We’re your family Jaskier, of course we’d come.” A smile twitches up the corner of Jaskier’s mouth, a slow acceptance of being cared for. Rising, Geralt presses a kiss to Jaskier’s forehead and with the room number from the nurse ringing in his ears he heads for the waiting room.

o~O~o

“Did he say what happened?” Eskel asks, catching up to Triss and Yennefer as they head through the automated Emergency Room doors. 

“I only got Jaskier and ER because I was asking about an order when Macee called.” Yennefer absently responds, scanning the small room. It’s not hard to see Geralt is nowhere to be found, a couple off to the side the only other occupants. With a sigh Yennefer sits in the chairs along the wall, affording a perfect view of the doors to the back, Triss and Eskel flanking her. 

“Any word?” Lambert grumbles, dropping into the chair next to Triss. 

“Not yet. If I could find my damn phone–” Yennefer frowns, continuing to rummage in her purse, having tossed her phone into it as she told the cooks there was an emergency and they could clean up and go home. At Triss’ sigh of, “ _Fuck_ ,” Yennefer’s head snaps up, fearing the worst and it is, but not the one she’d spent the car ride preparing for. 

“I see he listed us all as emergency contacts. Guess he figured they’d work down the list and one of us would pity him enough to show up.” Valdo drawls, smirking as he takes the four of them in. 

Lambert is on his feet, stalking towards Valdo and all Yennefer can think is they really should’ve seen this coming. Eskel shifts forward, looking to Yennefer who gives the slightest shake of her head, eyes never looking away from the retribution unfolding before her. 

Lambert buries his fist in Valdo’s stomach, the whoosh of air crumpling him over and threatening to send him to his knees but Lambert is there, his fist an ex-lover’s caress upon Valdo's jaw. 

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave the emergency room.” The nurse’s tone is reluctant, having noticed the carefully stitched letters across his shoulders, she makes no move to call security. With a final glare at Valdo, Lambert ambles outside, Triss following.

“Do you require medical assistance?” The nurse’s tone is clipped, head tilted from her place behind the high counter as she eyes Valdo, hands still on his knees as he tries to remember how to breathe. He gasps something that might be scathing if it were discernible before staggering towards the entrance, blood dripping from his split lip. 

“He says he’ll wait in his truck until we know what’s going on.” Triss reports, reclaiming her seat. Yennefer nods absently, having finally found her phone but no messages from Geralt and she reminds herself that’s a good thing. Probably. 

Yennefer wills Geralt to appear, preferably with Jaskier in tow and some crazy story that they can laugh about over dinner. Glancing to the side she catches a glimpse of Triss’ phone, an endless scroll of pictures from White Wolf, of Jaskier performing.

Swallowing down the pain that rises, Yennefer turns back to the doors, sitting watch for Geralt all she can bear right now and scant minutes later he appears. 

“Geralt?” Yennefer rises as though he wouldn’t see them in the mostly empty room. The haunted look on his face roots Yennefer to the spot, his lurching steps as only his body’s will keeps him moving, knowing where to take him when his mind can’t spare the notion. 

He slows to a stop, his eyes searching the space between them, sifting through horrors only he’s seen until they settle on her. “I love him, Yenna.” The words a prayer and a promise, a pardon and a plea.

In all their years together they’d never seen Geralt fall, so none of them are ready to catch him when he drops to his knees, arms wrapping about himself. Yennefer is before him gathering him into her arms as best she can, Triss and Eskel at his sides, all at a loss for what to say. 

It was obvious Geralt cared for Jaskier, but to hear him admit he loved him, words that came so easily to him for Ciri but no one else, scared them. 

“What happened?” Yennefer hates that she has to ask, the words brittle on her tongue but they can’t fight what they don’t know. 

“Heart attack, it was damaged from prolonged starvation, I….I’m trying, I thought, I thought he was getting better. I should’ve…” Too many _should haves_ had nearly gotten Jaskier killed. “I…” 

Yennefer stares at the man before her, the strongest man she knows, who took a knife to the chest and didn’t so much as blink as he sent her and Ciri to safety, broken before her, seeking an absolution he doesn’t believe he deserves but can’t go on without.

Cupping his chin she holds his gaze, waiting for the dimmest hint that he’s with her before saying, “You _did_. He wouldn’t be alive today without you. And you _will_ , he’ll get through this because he has you.” 

Jaskier’s worst day in recovery is his best in relapse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VeritasRose and I had been researching possible long-term effects of EDs and she messaged me and said: "Well i was thinking you prob don't want to give him a full on heart attack/heart disease?"  
> Me: "We *could*. I mean...a minor one wouldn't kill him.  
> Suffice it to say readers, my depravity knows no bounds and we are just getting started.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I would love to hear what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re still so brave, little cub.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness you're here! And that just means so much to me!  
> Thank you for reading and wave a thanks to VeritasRose as you scroll by for betaing this monster.

Geralt hopes to never again encounter the sight that greets him when they arrive at Jaskier’s room. The nurses had him changed into a gown, making him look younger than his years, the many colored cords growing from it ensuring he remains tethered to this life. He’d pulled the blanket up but it only served to emphasize that which he was trying to hide. 

“Alright hun, looks like you’ll be our guest tonight.” The nurse has a soft southern lilt to her voice as she fusses around Jaskier. “I’m Annie and you just press that button if you need anything.” With a final check of her patient and his levels she turns, her smile widening as she takes in his visitors. 

Jaskier’s smile falters when Geralt lingers in the doorway, but he can’t bring himself to move, the careful hold he has threatening to crumble. There’s a gentle pressure between his shoulder blades, a small hand rubbing circles, soothing and encouraging and with a surety he doesn’t quite believe Geralt moves forward.

Jaskier’s outstretched hand pulls him near as though Geralt would go anywhere else, tugging him down so he can press a kiss to Geralt’s lips, unabashed before their family. Jaskier keeps hold of Geralt, lending reassurance as much as needing it, concerned at the glassy sheen to his golden eyes.

"You ok?" He whispers even though it easily carries in the small room. Geralt's eyebrows raise and Jaskier huffs a laugh at his incredulation. Yennefer is there, gently hugging him before stepping back so Triss can get her turn, Eskel clasping his shoulder. 

“You tell Macee to come around the Wolf, I owe that girl a drink.” Yennefer tells Jaskier, grateful Macee had thought to call the bar, to let Geralt know, even when she was sure Jaskier had protested that he didn’t want to bother anyone.

“ _Macee!_ Oh cock, I was supposed to tell her I was fine.” Jaskier says, throwing back the covers and working his way towards the edge of the bed as though he means to stand.

"Not in person, right?” Yennefer and Geralt are there, gentle hands easing him back. 

“No, my phone, they put my things in a bag in the closet.” Jaskier is still trying to get up, though his fight is weaker, body already tired.

“And one of us can get it for you.” Yennefer reminds him, pulling the covers back over him, Jaskier’s lips pursing at the idea of bothering them.

"You need to be getting back to work. I’ll be fine.” Yennefer does nothing to stifle her sigh of exasperation as she shakes her head.

“You will be fine and _we’re_ here for you. Did this work on Macee?” Yennefer’s question makes Jaskier go suspiciously sheepish and she’s about to press when the dull thud of something hitting the floor draws their attention. Geralt is staring at the supplied hospital bag on the floor at his feet, hands still hovering in the air where they’d been holding the bag. 

"Geralt?” Eskel retrieves the bag from the floor, passing it back to him who reaches blindly back in, retrieving the phone by feel.

“I’ll go call her.” Geralt bites out, shoving the bag back into the cabinet before striding from the room. Jaskier looks worriedly after him and Yennefer has a good feeling he’s going to try to go after him.

“I better go make sure he doesn’t scare the poor girl, we all know how chatty he can get.” Jaskier eases a bit knowing Yennefer is going after him but his eyes are still trained on the door.

“She’s the one we met at the museum? The one with snack pockets?” Eskel’s question works in drawing Jaskier’s attention, all too happy to talk about his wonderful best friend. 

Yennefer slips into the hall, easily finding Geralt pacing at its dead end, phone clenched in his hand. “Geralt.”

"I'm supposed to help people.” Golden eyes flash, the only indication she gets he’s aware of her and not just berating himself.

"You did, you do.” Yennefer protests, but the words are hollow with her own shame.

“He could have _died_. He asked for help and I didn’t give it to him. I saw, Yenna, I _saw_ the damage–” 

“ _We_.” Yennefer interrupts, “ _We_ didn’t. I was there, I didn’t want to admit we’d let him get so bad. I wanted to believe we could help him.” 

“I should’ve seen this.” Geralt shakes his head, thinking back the past few months, the disaster of a housewarming, the blacking out, thinking twelve containers of food prep would be enough for a month. 

“You did and you helped him. He wouldn’t have survived that attack without you, his body wouldn’t have been strong enough.” 

“He’s been so reluctant to eat and he was so upset none of his clothes fit.” 

“I don’t–” 

“I told him to borrow mine, they’d be more comfortable and fit. He always asks, everything he borrows he asks first but he knew I’d say no.” With a sigh Geralt finally faces Yennefer, “He took my running shorts.” 

Yennefer understands then, not fully but enough to know that Geralt would never forgive himself for this, for something he couldn't possibly have seen but will claim as his own failing all the same.

"When's the last time you wore them?" A blush stains his cheeks, working out had fallen to the wayside more and more lately, months if he's honest and he knows it's starting to show. "There's no way you could have known, you don't take stock of your clothes everyday." Geralt nods but they both know it's a ploy to get her to stop trying.

With a sigh Yennefer looks to the phone in his hand. "If she doesn't answer don't you dare leave a voicemail saying anything other than to call or text back." Geralt has the decency to look sheepish but nods, Yennefer giving him a final disappointed look before returning to the room. 

It does click over to voicemail, unsurprising considering Jaskier sent her to work, he leaves a brief message assuring her Jaskier was fine and to call or text. 

Stepping back into the room Geralt takes a moment, appreciating how at ease Jaskier is surrounded by their family. As though he’s near, Jaskier’s head turns toward him, smile growing at the sight of him.

“Did you text him?” Triss asks as Geralt reclaims his place next to Jaskier.

“Yes.” Yennefer arches an eyebrow. “ _Yes._ ”

"Probably got lost.” Eskel rolls his eyes, pushing up from his chair with a sigh.

“Or he was dumb enough to go back in through the ER.” Triss proposes. Jaskier looks to Geralt who is just as lost.

“You got a damn visitors list or something?” Lambert grumbles, striding in. “Asked after the room number and thought they were gonna call security.”

“Again.” Triss reminds him.

“He deserved it and she _didn’t_ call, just threatened. Doesn’t count.” All the chairs occupied Lambert leans against the wall, expression bored. “You may want to update your I.C.E.”

Jaskier looks wide eyed at Geralt who is studying Lambert with a careful expression. “Lambert.” 

“Don’t. It’s not Witcher sanctioned.” Lambert growls, Geralt holding his stare before nodding a thanks deeper than words can contain. 

Jaskier is pale on the bed, eyes panicked. “It’s ok, Jask.” Geralt murmurs, pressing his perpetually cold fingers between his hands.

“I’m sorry.” Jaskier rasps out, looking at Lambert who shifts.

“He had no right to be here and I doubt he had the sense to keep his mouth shut. He got nothing he didn’t earn.” Lambert explained himself about nothing to no one. Until now. 

Silence settles, Geralt reassuring Jaskier through the gentlest of touches, the others feeling more helpless with each passing moment. 

“Dinner.” Triss blurts into the silence, drawing everyone’s attention. “You shouldn’t have to suffer hospital food.” When what they know is that he probably can’t stomach it. “Anything you want you’ll get.” If anything, the offer only seems to stress Jaskier further, Triss looking abashed.

“How about some fruit? Yogurt?” Geralt supplies softly.

“It’s fine...I’m not...I don’t need….” Jaskier trips over his refusals, already enough of a burden he doesn’t wish to be more.

“You need to eat, Jask. We just want to have dinner with you.” Geralt tries to soothe, having no intention of leaving, to retrieve dinner or otherwise.

“Yep. Purely selfish.” Triss smiles reassuringly and Jaskier still looks pained but nods. “Don’t go anywhere while we’re gone.” Triss teases, hoping to cheer Jaskier, her efforts earning her a weak smile. Eskel nods his goodbye and follows her out, Lambert claiming his seat.

Yennefer and Geralt mostly carry the conversation, idle chatter that slowly draws Jaskier back, his phone lighting up with a text from Macee, then a series of several more after his alarmingly causal explanation.

“I warned Geralt not to be blunt but it seems I should’ve gotten on you, too.” Jaskier looks sheepish but by the time Triss and Eskel return the texts have tapered off with promises to check in tomorrow.

Triss doles out the food, deli sandwiches all around, including a small cheese one for Jaskier that she sets next to a cup of mixed fresh fruit and vanilla yogurt. Eskel follows behind her, chips and drinks to round out their dinner. Lambert refuses to relinquish his chair, patting his lap in a challenge to Triss who perches on Eskel’s instead, citing he’s more the gentleman. 

Geralt smoothly peels open the yogurt and pops the lid off the fruit before unfolding the plastic around Jaskier’s sandwich, blushing when he catches Jaskier’s raised eyebrow. It’s awkward, the IV in Jaskier’s dominant hand and the pulse ox on his opposite finger but with some maneuvering he manages to not tangle himself and slowly work at the fruit and yogurt, even managing to brave a few bites of the sandwich. 

“I knew something wasn’t right about that girl.” Lambert mumbles around a mouthful of sandwich, earning confused looks around the room. “Who the hell enjoys running?”

“And you were so taken with her snack pockets.” Triss tsks, laughing.

“Well, at least he didn’t almost fuck you to death.” Lambert drawls. Triss would slide off Eskel’s lap if he didn’t wrap his arm about her waist, Yennefer looking as murderous as Geralt but Jaskier’s laugh breaks their ire. First Valdo and now Lambert, the thought is so absurd Jaskier is helpless to stop his giggles, hand clapping to his mouth as he tries to swallow them back, but this isn’t _his_ laugh, this is something broken and hollow, the others looking at him then Geralt who shifts nervously, looking just as concerned. 

“Jask?” Geralt asks slowly, shifting forward in his chair as though his knees weren’t already pressed into the bed, his hand coming to rest on Jaskier’s thigh. 

“Sor...hehe…. _sorry_. Hmm.” Jaskier tapers off, swiping tears from his eyes he offers a watery smile. Even Lambert looks disconcerted as Jaskier sets about carefully closing the empty fruit and yogurt containers, meticulously moving the remainder of his sandwich onto Geralt’s empty sandwich wrapper. 

Jaskier settles back once he’s through, an eerie calm about him that all want to break but none are sure how. Finally Triss can stand it no longer, the way it looks like Jaskier has shut down, retreating somewhere they can’t follow.

“And because no one should have to be in the hospital without it,” Triss rummages in the bag at her feet, producing a small plastic container she proudly sets before Jaskier. “Chocolate, peanut butter cheesecake cup.” The container stands only a few inches tall, the various layers of cheesecake, chocolate and peanut butter easy to discern and looks delicious to all there but Jaskier blanches at the sight.

“Thank you.” He forces a smile, _more concerned with playing than stuffing his face ...body’s way of protecting itself._ It was three of his favorites combined in one, he knew the few bites he could manage would be delicious and Triss had gotten it for him but he couldn’t exercise and there was no hope of losing his gut any time soon and– 

“You look tired.” Yennefer murmurs, searching Jaskier’s face with a care she normally reserves for Ciri. His eyes flick to her, he’s no argument to offer and that’s all the answer they need. “You get some rest and we’ll see you tomorrow.” Eskel gathers up the remaining trash as Yennefer wraps Jaskier in a gentle hug, whispering, “You’re still so brave, little cub.” 

Jaskier’s eyes burn with tears but Yennefer is pulling away, Triss hovering behind looking uncertain but she can’t stand the thought of leaving without hugging her friend and though she means it to be quick, Jaskier catches her elbow, whispering, “Thank you,” in her ear. He truly does appreciate the gesture even if his mind doesn’t. 

Jaskier turns to Geralt, the others having gone ahead he smiles softly, “Thank you for coming today.” 

Geralt frowns at Jaskier, his hollow laughter from earlier haunting him. “Of course I came.” 

Jaskier shifts under Geralt’s gaze, knowing that he has mere moments if he’s going to ask, but the words stick in his throat, shame choking him. “Jask?” It’s the tenderness in his tone, the one that reminds him it’s ok to ask for things he needs. 

“Before you go...just, just for a little while could you...hold me?” The plea weakening with every word. “Nevermind, sorry.” Jaskier turns on his side, not mindful of the IV he bites his lip against the painful tug when it tangles with the heart monitor wires, silently cursing himself. Of course Geralt wouldn’t want to hold him, he was waiting until Jaskier was released before he’d break up with him, probably spend tonight packing his things and if he was lucky the apartment was still available and– 

There’s gentle hands under his knees and shoulders, lifting him before resettling him further over in the bed, Jaskier not daring to hope, to so much as shift as he feels every jostle of the thin mattress. Geralt’s arm is around his shoulders, the pillow he uses every night, the heavy arm on his hip and comforting hand on his stomach as Geralt fits himself behind Jaskier.

“There is no before I go, Jaskier. I told you, I want all my nights with you.” The promise whispered in his ear.

“And all your mornings.” Jaskier finishes with a sigh that relaxes his whole body. 

When Annie comes to check on her patient later that night she slows to a surprised stop at the sight before her, golden eyes taking in her reaction but making no attempt to move. With the stats she needs written on a sticky note, she moves to the cabinet, lightly draping a blanket over them, Jaskier relaxing slightly at the added warmth as she dims the light on her way out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you look at that...I ended on fluff. Fluff I tell you!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier glances at Geralt, mind tripping over how much time, how much more of a burden he’ll be for months on top of his other issues. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hellloooo lovely reader! Welcome back! I'm so very happy you're here!  
> There's some fluff tucked among the angst of this chapter but it might be a bit like Where's Waldo: Fluff Edition.  
> As always, a huge thank you to VeritasRose for betaing!

Breakfast threatens to be another battle, the hospital’s offerings skewing more towards things Jaskier’s stomach couldn’t handle even if his mind were up for it. With a promise to return, twice spoken and once sealed with a kiss, Geralt headed down to the cafeteria, returning with yogurt and fruit and a bagel for himself and one for Jaskier that he knew would go mostly untouched but he didn’t want Jaskier to start thinking only fruit and yogurt were acceptable. 

“I hear there’s talk of you getting out of here today.” Annie is at Jaskier’s side, Geralt grateful someone was there to keep his racing mind occupied while he was getting breakfast, no doubt the fears from last night still lingering. 

“That’s the hope.” Jaskier’s smile is strained, turning more true at the sight of Geralt, his shoulders relaxing as the numbers drop on the monitor and Annie’s expression turns to the one of care so often directed at Jaskier. 

“Good excuse to binge watch some old favorites.” Annie winks like she’s sharing a secret as Geralt readies the fruit and yogurt for Jaskier. 

“Oh,” Jaskier laughs, “We don’t have a TV.” This draws Annie’s full attention.

“Really?” Annie’s surprised, looking from Jaskier to Geralt as though she expects he’s messing with her.

Jaskier just shrugs, “Never could afford one.” Geralt fumbles the plastic wrapped utensils he’d been opening at Jaskier’s words. What else had Jaskier given up wanting, accepting he would never have them.

Annie seems equally at a loss for how to follow that, stuttering through, “Well...I’m sure you get a lot more done than I do.” She finishes recording morning vitals, checking if he needs anything before taking her leave. “Alright, well, that’s it for me. You’ve been so sweet but I sure don’t want to see you back here again. If you need anything just press the button, Melanie is your day nurse.” 

Breakfast goes as well as dinner, Jaskier managing the fruit and yogurt before he clearly forces the two bites of bagel he attempts before nudging it towards Geralt. At every sound from the hallway Jaskier’s eyes flick to the door, hoping it’s the doctor who will sign off on him going home during morning rounds. 

As though he could have forgotten, Triss had texted Geralt reminding him to let them know when they heard anything, years together telling him there was more to this request than simple concern. 

It’s clear Jaskier is anxious, his fingers twitching in his lap, used to his guitar or songbook for downtime moments like these but his mind won’t settle long enough for anything more than half-formed shadows of lyrics to form. Geralt at a loss beside him for what to fill the silence with that won’t be twisted and skewed, still haunted by the realization Jaskier’s lack of want was born from acceptance of inevitability. 

“Mr. Pankratz?” His name comes with a knock at his door, a doctor striding in and with her a palpable hope as Jaskier straightens, doing his best to look months better than he feels. “I’m Dr. Troy and I understand you want to go home today?” She greets them, shaking each of their hands in turn before logging into the computer that contains Jaskier’s chart.

“Not that this establishment wasn’t lovely but yes, I’d rather much like to go home.” Jaskier twists his fingers so hard Geralt listens for the crack of snapped bone as he reaches for them, sliding one of his hands in place of Jaskier’s abused one. 

“I’d like to get you home as well but there’s a few things we need to discuss first.” Geralt feels Jaskier’s panic in the spasm of his hand, the understanding that not one but two doctors will lay bare his failures. 

“Let’s start with the good news. The levels from all the tests we’ve been running came back good, you’re eating healthy so it doesn’t look like there will need to be much of an adjustment to your diet.” Jaskier’s nod is jerky and Geralt wonders if she’s read the whole chart, noted the eating disorder, or if this was just simple grace.

“Prolonged starvation has weakened your myocardial fibers, or the muscular tissues that make up your heart, making it work harder to beat. Those are two, very big, scary things in one sentence but you caught it early and that’s what’s important.” Jaskier’s breath hitches and Geralt knows he’s fighting tears. He thought it was bad enough to hear this in the ER, do they really need to subject him to it again?

“I’d like to set you up with what we call Cardiac Rehab, it lasts anywhere from six to ten weeks and it will just teach you some basic exercises to help strengthen your heart. The damage can’t fully be repaired but we can help build it back up so it doesn’t have to work so hard. Does that sound like something you’d be willing to try?” 

Jaskier glances at Geralt, mind tripping over how much time, how much more of a burden he’ll be for _months_ on top of his other issues. 

Geralt watches Jaskier wrap the truth in lies he’s about to say, assuring the doctor he’ll enroll in the program only to never let it get that far. He doesn’t want to take this from Jaskier, it should be his decision but he’d been a prisoner of his mind far too long. “Is it done here at the hospital or an offsite facility?”

To her credit Dr. Troy doesn’t so much as blink as she splits her attention between Geralt and Jaskier, seeming to understand. “The first few sessions are often done here at the hospital though we do have satellite facilities that may be closer to your home. Gradually you’ll transition to doing it at home with virtual check-ins, though you’re more than welcome to complete the program on-site.” 

Jaskier nods, turning this information over and Geralt can see the anxiety starting to well anew. “I’ll go with you.” Geralt squeezes his hand, pulling Jaskier back from his galloping thoughts.

“We do strongly encourage family members to attend, a strong support system is crucial.” Troy supplies. When it seems Jaskier has at least understood if not fully accepted this information Troy continues. “As far as going home today I don’t see any reason why we can’t get you out of here, so let’s go over that.” 

Jaskier perks up at this, squeezing Geralt’s hand he straightens and Geralt thinks he may try to get out of bed and dressed in that moment.

“We’ll set you up with an appointment to see a cardiologist next week, he’ll want to get you on some light medication that will reduce the workload on your heart but nothing too serious.” Jaskier looks pained at the mention of pills. Pills mean not only more of a burden but food, _more_ food. 

“Pills and rehab.” Jaskier whispers to himself his laugh is mirthless. 

Dr. Troy frowns but doesn’t say anything, having seen enough patients she knows the spectrum of reactions is vast and not always what one would consider normal. 

“You said I could take him home today?” Geralt doesn’t miss the smile the words bring to Jaskier’s face, the careful wording meant to reassure him having done its job.

“Yes, like I said, cardiologist appointment next week. Until then I want you resting. Light walking around the house but that’s it, no driving until they release you, though expect two to three weeks of rest before even considering going back to work.” 

Whatever excitement the news of going home had brought is as quickly dashed at the thought of missing work, of being a burden physically as well as financially.

“Thank you, doctor.” Jaskier musters up a weak smile, his mother didn’t approve of being rude just because you didn’t like what you heard. 

“One last thing, I see it noted in your chart that you’ve struggled with an eating disorder but aren’t enrolled in a recovery program. The hospital offers a variety of options from inpatient to anonymous support groups. This is a lot to take in and it may trigger a relapse. I could send you home with the information for you to look over.” 

“Thank you.” Jaskier says again, voice softer. Dr. Troy looks like she wants to say more on the topic but the look on Geralt’s face is enough to silence her. “I’ll send a nurse in with the discharge papers.” 

Geralt pays her no mind as she leaves, focused on Jaskier who has gone carefully still, his hand limp in Geralt’s. “Jask.” 

“I’ll...I’ll be better, _please_ I don’t….I can’t.” Scared blue eyes turn on Geralt who sits on the side of the bed, gathering Jaskier in his arms. 

“You’re perfect Jask. We’ll go home and have tea by the fire, how does that sound?” Jaskier nods against Geralt’s chest, his shirt wet with tears. “Will you let me take you to the cardiologist?” There’s a longer pause this time but then another nod. 

Geralt eases Jaskier back, thumbs swiping away the tear tracks, watery blue eyes warily focusing on him, “That’s my heart too.” 

Jaskier gives Geralt an honest smile and takes a shuddering sigh as he calms. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” Geralt searches his eyes, hoping to make him understand how deeply he means the words before pressing a kiss to his forehead and pulling him closer once more.

o~O~o

“I hear you get to go home.” Yennefer says by way of greeting, dressed in worn jeans and an oversized sweater, shopping bags hanging from her fingers. 

“So they tell me.” Jaskier grins, eyes still red rimmed but if Yennefer notices she doesn’t comment. The nurse had already been in to remove his IV and untether him from the many monitors, now they were just waiting for her to return with the paperwork so he could go.

“I didn’t think you’d want to go home in that.” Yennefer says, eyeing the thin hospital gown. “So comfort clothes it is.” She lifts the bags onto the bed next to Jaskier and Geralt is torn between being immensely grateful and cursing her name. 

Jaskier’s panic manifests itself as he trips over his polite refusal. “I have clothes, thank you I mean, but in the closet, really I, let me know and I’ll repay–”

“This is purely selfish on my part. Let me mom you, makes me feel better.” Yennefer rubs his arm and though Jaskier doesn’t look fully convinced he nods, smile crooked. 

“Guess I’ll go change. Just waiting on the discharge papers.” Jaskier swings his legs over the bed, Geralt hovering but he stands fine, with a murmured thanks he slides the bag from the bed and shuts himself into the small bathroom. 

“How are you holding up?” Yennefer asks, keeping her voice low. 

Geralt stares at the bathroom door for a long moment. “Fine. He’s coming home and will do a little rehab to help strengthen his heart but he’ll be fine.” Yennefer frowns at his sidestep but before she can press he continues. “Thank you...for the clothes.” 

Yennefer had left the hospital last night and gone straight to the store, knowing Geralt couldn’t handle seeing Jaskier in _those_ clothes, especially not when he was still in the hospital. She feels him tense when she pulls him into a hug but doesn’t let go, his arms slowly coming up to embrace her as he settles into it. 

“It’s ok to not always be strong.” The words tangle in his hair but she feels his huff of disbelief all the same and holds him tighter. 

“Discharge paperwork for a Mr. Pankratz?” The new nurse, Melanie, asks, hovering in the doorway. 

Geralt pulls back from Yennefer and with a gruff, “He’s in the bathroom.” He steps away from Yennefer and accepts the paperwork. Returning to the small rolling table, he flips through the pages with an urgency that concerns Yennefer. “Geralt?” 

Geralt sends another glance to the bathroom door, the toilet having flushed and sink running indicating they’re nearly out of time. He finds the papers at the back, a pamphlet stapled to a packet for the recovery programs offered through the hospital as well as a list of community groups and online resources. 

“The doctor suggested...it’s too much for him right now. I know he needs help but he broke Yenna, he,” Geralt swallows thickly. Yennefer understands his battle, Jaskier _was_ doing better and if the doctor didn’t insist he must be enrolled in one immediately they could wait, use the information to learn and help him themselves. 

Without a word Yennefer plucks the pages from Geralt, folding them in half and tucking them into her purse as the door opens behind them and Jaskier steps out. She’d erred on the side of caution, getting a soft long sleeved tee in Geralt’s size, loose everywhere else on him but snug across his belly and a pair of sweatpants, easily tied to fit. 

“Thank you.” Jaskier says again, the clothes clearly having been washed, smelling distinctly of Yennefer, the crisp open fields that he smells every time she hugs him. 

“Again, purely selfish. The nurse brought your paperwork and then it looks like you’ll be out of here.” Jaskier is quick to sign, setting aside the ones he’s to keep that tell him when and where his appointment is next week and the mandated _What You Need to Know_ sheets for the next few weeks. With the final line signed and his papers and prescriptions carefully tucked into a folder he sighs.

“Let’s go home, Jaskier.” Geralt says, offering his hand to Jaskier who happily laces their fingers.

The more familiar roads they take, the more relaxed Jaskier becomes, as though he didn’t quite believe they were truly going home. 

“How about some lunch?” Geralt asks as he trails Jaskier into the house, wanting to get some real food into Jaskier’s stomach before his progress regresses too far. 

“I want to shower first.” Jaskier counters, Geralt grateful it isn’t an outright no.

“Sounds good.” Jaskier flashes him a smile over his shoulder that Geralt can’t decipher but Jaskier’s hand blindly reaches back, clasping his before leading him up the stairs. 

Geralt slows as Jaskier heads for the bathroom, doubt pulling his features when he turns around, “Please, just…” 

Geralt understands the reassurance he craves but can’t bring himself to ask for, to put into words, but he doesn’t need to, not with him.

Slow hands slip under Jaskier’s shirt, working it up over his chest, pressing a kiss to his lips the moment his shirt is off, quieting any fears he has of Geralt seeing him. Geralt’s breath hitches the slightest when divested of his own shirt, Jaskier’s cold fingers chasing the fire his touch brings. 

Clothes exchanged for kisses and hidden truths bared, Jaskier leads Geralt to the bathroom, leaning against the counter while Geralt works the taps, steam soon clouding the room. 

Geralt turns, hand outstretched, an offer to let this be as far as it goes but Jaskier pulls him along, smile tired as he rests against Geralt’s chest under the hot spray. With gentle hands Geralt washes the sharp smell of hospital from Jaskier’s skin, replacing it with the soft floral soaps that usually grace him. Jaskier hums his pleasure as strong hands smooth over his shoulders, the barest of pressure turning away his lingering anxieties. 

Jaskier turns in Geralt’s arms, limbs sluggish and scent wrong as he lathers his hands with Geralt’s soap. “Let me care for you.” Geralt murmurs and Jaskier nods, letting Geralt take his own quick wash, skipping his hair making it that much quicker. 

Jaskier’s blinks are growing slower, his body pressing more and more into Geralt by the time he shuts the water off. Wrapping a towel about his waist, Geralt takes care to dry Jaskier before guiding clumsy limbs back into the comfort clothes Yennefer brought him, his own pajamas sticking to damp skin. 

Geralt eyes the bed alongside Jaskier, both wishing to give into Jaskier’s longing but he needs food and so with a supporting arm about his waist, Geralt leads him down the stairs. By the time the fire is roaring Jaskier is curled in his music blanket, half-lidded eyes watching the fire.

Geralt drifts from the stove to the archway, keeping an eye on Jaskier as dinner cooks. Plating the grilled cheese and mashed cauliflower Geralt returns to the living room, passing Jaskier a plate as he claims the seat next to him. 

Jaskier picks at his food, the smallest of bites as Geralt scrambles for something to say, to fill the silence. He wants to tell Jaskier of the plans for the studio but Valentine’s Day is just two weeks away and he’s had it all planned out, a perfect night for their first Valentine’s together. 

The doctor’s suggestion for rehab echoes with each hard-won bite, he’d yet to get the papers back from Yennefer and he can’t help but wonder if this will be another failure he’ll realize only once it’s far too late. 

The sharp crack of plate meeting table pulls Geralt’s attention from the fire, Jaskier’s plate, now empty, sits discarded as he presses himself into Geralt’s side, expecting to be held. Setting his own plate to the side, Geralt lifts his arm, Jaskier happily snuggling closer, pressing their latest book into Geralt’s other hand. Pulling the music note blanket up Jaskier’s shoulder Geralt wraps his arm around him, holding him close as he picks up where they left off. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feels check! How are they doing? We ok? Got a few bruises? 
> 
> I do so appreciate you all reading. I also greatly enjoy your comments! They brighten my days! 
> 
> Should you be interested, I have started posting a quote from the upcoming chapter on the tumbles on Mondays and Thursdays should you need an extra Biker fix between updates. Find me (and the quotes) [@process-pending](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/process-pending)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anger flashes across Geralt’s eyes Jaskier has seen, but never had directed at him and in that moment never wants to be the cause of again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! It's a harrowing day for the US and I hope this finds you well. There's no shame in taking a break if it will keep you safe.   
> As alway, major thank you to all who read and another thank you to VeritasRose who keeps me edited.

Geralt looks from the text to Jaskier, weighing what he thinks Jaskier actually wants and what he’ll say. “Yenn texted.” Geralt’s words pull Jaskier’s attention from his notebook, fingers stilling on his guitar. “They wanted to come over for dinner if you’re up for it.” 

“Oh.” Jaskier sets his guitar aside, the only indication he’s seriously considering the question instead of the automatic response he’s prone to. “Sure?”

“They don’t have to. It can just–”

“No. I want to I just–” Jaskier cuts himself off but Geralt can read it in the panic of old memories. No one ever cared enough to check on him after Valdo put him in the hospital.

“Ciri will be very happy to see you.” Geralt says, swallowing back the hurt that rises. Jaskier nods but the chords he strums for the rest of the afternoon are mournful.

o~O~o

“Julian!” Ciri slides to a slow stop at the end of Jaskier’s hand, rainbow socked feet threatening to carry her through the window otherwise.

“Hello Ciri.” Jaskier says as she launches herself into him, small arms wrapping around his neck before she’s just as quickly pulling back, nearly falling off backward if not for his quick hands.

“You ok? Mommy said you fell down cause your heart was tired.” Jaskier suppresses his wince, how many times was he going to make this child worry for him? As though invoking her, Yennefer steps into the living room, bearing a crockpot.

“I did, but that hug makes it better.” Ciri beams, shifting so she’s sitting next to him on the couch, happily petting the music note blanket spread across his lap and the cushions. Yennefer had disappeared into the kitchen, reappearing now with empty hands she tells Ciri, “Pama made hot cocoa.” 

“I'll bring you a cup.” Ciri assures Jaskier as she slides off the couch, running into the kitchen. Geralt’s startled, “Oomph,” followed by her giggles telling them she found a new person to skid into.

“How’re you feeling hun?” Yennefer asks, perching on the couch next to him.

“I’m fine.” Jaskier murmurs, eyeing the archway Ciri had disappeared through before turning weary eyes on her. “I’m sorry.” 

Yennefer follows his gaze, Ciri’s voice carrying to them as she insists rainbow socks make her go faster. “She doesn’t understand it the way we do. To her it’s like when she falls on the playground. She thinks Geralt gave you a band-aid and that you just need a rest.”

Jaskier nods, knowing this should make him feel better but he still hates that she worries, even the slightest bit when her world should be filled with light-up shoes and brightly colored bracelets, as Yennefer wraps him in a gentler hug,

“He’s got a boyfriend.” Lambert’s tease announcing his and Eskel’s arrival, Yennefer rolls her eyes as she sits back. 

“What have you got there?” Eskel asks, drawing attention to Ciri who is taking careful, shuffling steps toward the couch, a large mug clasped between her hands as she focuses on not sloshing the dark liquid out, Geralt following behind with a teacup. 

“Hot chocolate.” The words are stilted as Ciri comes to a slow halt before Jaskier, presenting the cup with a grin she declares, “With _extra_ marshmallows.” 

“Thank you, Ciri.” Jaskier accepts the mug, Ciri scrambling up to claim the seat on his other side before Geralt passes her the small teacup she insists on using when over. Yennefer stands, giving Geralt back his seat who is all too happy to reclaim it, putting his arm around Jaskier who automatically leans into his side. 

Triss wanders in shortly after Lambert and Eskel have disappeared inot the kitchen to busy themselves with the dishes they brought. “Sorry I’m late.” 

“You’re only late if we’ve started and those two are still at it so you’ve got a solid half hour yet.” Yennefer teases from the chair she’d claimed. 

“Oh good.” Triss sets the container she’s carrying on the coffee table, stooping she presses a kiss to Jaskier’s cheek, “Hey, J.” Ciri, not one to be forgotten tilts her head back, bearing her cheeks for Triss who kisses each one in turn as Ciri bursts into giggles.

Jaskier settles into the warmth of his family surrounding him, the anxiety that had slowly built during the day ebbing as they fall into easy conversation around him, just happy to be in his presence.

All too soon the food is ready and Geralt is rising, taking his warmth with him. "I can bring you a plate." Jaskier smiles at the offer but he's supposed to move as much as he's able, or so his paperwork says and so he uses Geralt's hand to pull himself up and then up some more for a quick kiss before he's trailing the others into the kitchen. There's a casual reshuffling as Jaskier situates himself to be the last in line, no one noting the preference they've grown used to but now casts a new shadow. 

Yennefer struggles to manage her and Ciri's plate, the crockpots too tall on the counter for Ciri to manage serving herself and though Jaskier doesn't fault her for it, he wishes she would hurry if only so that he could sit once more. He hated how tired he still felt, his limbs seeming heavier even though he's done nothing to earn the weariness that plagues him. The line shifts forward, Eskel, Lambert and Triss doing a modified Sunday dinner as they hold out their paltes, each serving from a different dish as Jaskier leans his hip against the counter, smiling when the motion draws Geralt’s attention. 

Jaskier finds it sweet that Geralt hovers, ready to step in should he need it but he manages to get his plate just fine, noting it’s all comfort food and reminding himself this is ok, they made these _for_ him. 

Following Geralt back into the living room he smiles at the sight of Ciri, her legs too short to reach the end of the cushion stick straight out, bopping her rainbow socked feet happily as she eats. Settling back next to her he lets the conversation flow around him, their voices lulling him into eating, idly watching as the others rise for seconds, Eskel taking his plate as he passes and returning it refilled. 

Geralt gives Jaskier a searching look when he passes him his plate, having managed to get only half the seconds down before the cramping got too much. Jaskier doesn’t even attempt to rise for dessert, Geralt making no motion either as Jaskier is firmly pressed into his side, arms wrapped about his stomach telling Geralt he’s hurting. 

With a soft thanks Jaskier accepts a small plate from Yennefer, the bread pudding still warm and Jaskier wants it but his stomach is already hurting and he doesn’t get more than two bites down before he’s passing it to Geralt as well. He’s helpless to stop the jaw-cracking yawns that soon overtake him, hiding them behind his hand as he snuggles closer to Geralt, Ciri having fallen asleep next to him.

“Sorry.” Jaskier murmurs after yet another yawn, realizing he’d drifted off at some point and missed part of the conversation. “I’m gonna go bed.” The words are sleep slurred but he’s too tired to be embarrassed about the admittance. 

Stretching up Jaskier presses a goodnight kiss to Geralt, bidding goodnight to the others as he heads for the stairs, each step scuffing.

“We’ll clean up.” Yennefer says softly, the clink of plates being stacked filling the room behind him. Jaskier is sure it’s all in his mind, a new failure to add to the rotation, as he pulls himself up the stairs, each step seeming harder than the last, tripping up the last few. 

Strong hands steady him where he leans against the bannister post, rubbing at a pain in his chest that threatens to feel all too familiar, knowing it’s all in his head does little to help his reality. 

Four sets of eyes watch the couple from below, grateful the youngest isn’t awake to share in their fear but after long moments Geralt’s arm is around Jaskier’s waist, guiding him out of sight. Clean up continues but glances are stolen, turns taken drifting between kitchen and living room, roaming sentries waiting for news until finally their white knight appears, reassuring.

o~O~o

“Jaskier?” Jaskier straightens up from where he’s doubled over, tying the ratty converse Geralt hoped never to see again but at least this time he’s wearing his skinny jeans and the shirt he’d borrowed this morning. “Going somewhere?”

Geralt feels a pang as hurt flashes across Jaskier’s face chased by embarrassment. Jaskier’s pants still don’t fit and without Geralt’s shirt it’s easy to see the gaping flaps; at Geralt’s insistence Jaskier had stayed in soft pants since getting discharged.

“It’s Saturday.” Jaskier says as he stands as though it’s the most obvious answer, Geralt’s blank look prompting him to continue. “I promised Betty I would help her plant tulips.” 

An anger flashes across Geralt’s eyes Jaskier has seen, but never had directed at him and in that moment never wants to be the cause of again. In the span of a breath Geralt’s pushed the anger down, his eyes softening to a pain Jaskier will grow all too familiar with as he says, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I _promised_. Geralt, she can’t do it herself, she’ll have a–” Jaskier cuts himself off, eyes going wide but the damage is already done as Geralt looks stricken.

“Please. Stay home and I’ll go help her.” A plea wrapped in an offer. Jaskier nods as Geralt kneels, untying graying laces he tucks the ratty converse back in the closet before passing Jaskier a pair of soft lounge pants. 

Redressed, Jaskier follows Geralt downstairs, letting Geralt settle him on the couch before he bends for a goodbye kiss, golden eyes still shadowed. Jaskier catches his hand, pulling him back and finally meets Geralt’s eyes. “I’m sorry.” 

“I know.” Geralt’s solemn acceptance threatens to stick the next words in his throat but Jaskier forces himself to continue.

“I appreciate you doing this.” 

“I know.”

“I’m sorry I scared you.” 

The hardness in his golden eyes softens, a tension easing in his shoulders as they slump. “I can’t lose you.” 

“I know.” Geralt huffs a laugh and Jaskier tugs his hand, encouraging him down once more.

“You won’t.” Jaskier seals the promise with a kiss.

o~O~o

“Geralt.” There’s a tightness to Betty’s voice that tells Geralt she knows something is wrong. “Jaskier’s not already at it and you’re not just here to help plant flowers.” 

“May I come in?” Geralt hates to ask, it goes against everything instilled in him but he owes her the decency of not doing this in the hallway. He’s barely started when Betty is stepping back, inviting him in. She gestures to the living room, a mirror of Jaskier’s old apartment and Geralt wonders what would have happened if he hadn’t moved in. Would he have taken a jog down the road? Been alone when his chest threatened to crack open and he couldn’t breathe?

The softest pressure on his arm brings him back to himself, Betty’s seaglass green eyes studying him with care rarely bestowed upon him. “I know that he’s ok, but only just.” Betty’s tone is matter of fact but the tears in her eyes give her away. 

“He had a mild heart attack while running. He wanted to be here…” Geralt can’t bring himself to put voice to the understanding in her eyes.

“Always told him he looked just fine as he was. That you’d love him regardless.” Betty muses more to herself.

“You’re right. I’m taking better care to show him.” Geralt says, knowing the truth would hurt her so much more. Betty settles a look on him that reminds him of Vesmir, always knowing when he’s lying to protect but won’t press. 

“If he’s anything like my Henry was, it’s a struggle to slow him down.” Betty says, drawing a smile back to Geralt’s face.

“He is.” Betty nods, seeming to set something right within herself.

“Guess we should get started then before he gets too antsy and finds some new trouble.” 

The tulip bulbs are in cardboard flats along the baseboards in her kitchen, gardening bag standing at the ready beside them and Geralt easily gathers the lot before following Betty out the door.

Geralt quickly finds Jaskier wasn’t wrong in his concern for Betty as she wastes no time plucking a workshop knee pad from her garden bag before easing herself down to her knees, working the soil. Geralt tries to keep ahead of her, retrieving the bags of mulch from her trunk before she can attempt, certain she would get them to the garden bed even if it meant dragging them across the parking lot. 

“You know, I thought he was just being polite.” Betty starts. “But he comes home one day and finds me out here, I’d barely said hello and he just kneels next to me and says, ‘You started without me’, like he was shocked I didn’t wait.” Geralt smiles, Jaskier’s word as good as any promise.

They lapse into an easy silence, Geralt working free the frozen ground, Betty following behind with a bulb and repacking the dirt. Settling back after the last one is covered, Betty admires their hard work, though the bed looks little changed from when they’d started.

“You’ll have to come by when they bloom, he always loved seeing all the colors.” Her tone wistful as she notes, “Helped me pick these out.” 

In that moment Geralt realizes, he can give Jaskier _this_. 

o~O~o

“You know, you’re shattering the whole biker aesthetic.” Macee teases as she settles sideways on the couch next to Jaskier, one leg tucked under her, who just laughs at Geralt’s confused look.

“I’ll be upstairs if you need anything.” Geralt nods his goodbye but doesn’t make it two steps before Macee is calling him back.

“Don’t make yourself scarce on my account. This is your house.” Geralt falters but Jaskier’s easy grin is enough. 

“I’ll get drinks then.” Geralt says, waving Jaskier back down when he protests that he can do that just as well, heading into the kitchen, their voices keeping him company as he pours the hot chocolate.

“You’re like an old married couple, already bickering.” Macee teases as Jaskier wrinkles his nose, trying to hold his glare against his growing smile.

“It’s not the same without you.” Macee starts, bumping her shoulder into his. 

“Two weeks, not even two weeks. Week and a half.” Jaskier proudly notes as though that handful of days will lessen Macee’s upset. Though Jaskier was grateful it was getting closer as well, he was anxious to get back as he feared the longer he was out the more likely they would be to fire him. 

“Yeah, but then you’re not on the floor.” Macee counters.

“I’ll be at the front desk. I’m sure you’ll find plenty of parents who have lost their children and are panicking.” Jaskier reassures, knowing Macee has most likely started a running list of excuses for why she needed to visit the welcome desk.

“I _guess_.” She sighs, put upon.

“This is about Fletcher, isn’t it.” Jaskier’s grin widens as Macee’s mouth tightens into an unamused line.

“He’s so _annoying_.” Macee draws the word out, Jaskier’s laugh echoing, making Geralt smile as he returns to the living room, bearing a tray. He offers it between them, Macee accepting a large mug as Jaskier does the same, eyeing the bowl and accompanying tongs. 

“Ok, you could at least _pretend_ to be stereotypical. I mean _marshmallows._ ” Macee sighs and shakes her head, looking towards the ceiling in a ‘Give me strength’ gesture as Jaskier laughs and plops marshmallows into her cup. 

“Did he get lost again?” Jaskier asks, drawing Macee back into conversation as Geralt settles into a chair, enjoying watching an animation he hasn’t seen in Jaskier in weeks. 

“He asked for a _map_. He’s worked there how many months and he’s asking for a map!” Macee rolls her eyes, taking a sip of hot chocolate as Jaskier explains to Geralt.

“We believe in a more...organic experience and don’t have maps. This way you have to wander to find the attraction you want and in the process find new ones.” 

“I found him before my shift ended, he was fine.” Macee waves her hand like it’s not a big deal Fletcher was wandering for what could have been hours, unable to find the place he needs. 

“Macee.” Jaskier scolds but his grin defeats it’s chastisement.

Her face smooths to serious as she peers at Jaskier over her mug, taking a fortifying sip before saying, “He mocked the snack pockets.” 

“Those are sacred.” Geralt intones, Macee’s eyes darting to him as Jaskier turns to look as well, the barest hint of a curl to his lips has Jaskier narrowing his eyes.

“You don’t mock the snack pockets.” Jaskier narrows his eyes at Geralt, cuing Macee in.

“If I didn’t want to bathe in this we would have to have a serious discussion about you dating my Jaskier.” Macee says, holding her cup closer. “Oh don’t give me that look, you know you’ve thought the same thing.” Jaskier blushes as he glances at Geralt, ducking his head as he begs Macee to shut up. 

The afternoon draws on, empty mugs soon discarded on the coffee table as Macee fills Jaskier in on work drama before they move to other topics, Jaskier seeming to brighten more and more. Geralt excuses himself to start dinner, backing up Jaskier’s insistence she can leave _after_ and no she wouldn’t be intruding. 

“Jaskier, that’s _dirt_.” Geralt smiles at Macee’s incredulity, knowing exactly what Jaskier is showing her.

“Yes.” Comes his exasperated concession. “But just imagine in a few months there will be tulips there, we got all the colors so it’s going to be so beautiful when they start coming up.” 

“You should come do my yard. Make it look less abandoned, though that does keep the door-to-door salesmen at bay.” Macee winks.

“I’d like that.” Jaskier agrees, hurriedly adding on, “When it gets warmer.” A heavy silence threatens, Macee understanding why Betty had sent him the pictures and Jaskier didn’t take them himself but Geralt is there to chase it away before it can start.

“Dinner’s ready.” Geralt lingers, watching to see if Jaskier sways when he rises as he’s noticed lately, claiming he’s just risen too fast but each time fear rushes through Geralt even though the cardiologist assured them it was normal and should lessen over time. He need not worry as Macee hovers close by, busying herself collecting the mugs but Geralt sees the careful tilt of her head, an eye trained on Jaskier, only picking up the mugs once he’s fully risen. 

Jaskier takes the mugs from Macee, shooing her towards the table where three places are set. “It’s vegetable soup.” Geralt says almost apologetically. 

“I live for soup weather.” Macee says, claiming a seat. 

“You just hate summer.” Jaskier teases, taking the seat across from her, leaving Geralt at the end of the table between them.

“Doesn’t mean I like soup any less.” The bread bowls are easily claimed, Jaskier taking the smallest one with a small smile of thanks to Geralt, his and Macee’s twice the size. 

Macee pulls the bread cork from her clearly homemade bread bowl so Geralt can ladle in soup, steam curling from within causing her to groan. “Now you’re not even _trying_. Are you _sure_ you’re a biker?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting better about the fluff! Is that *three* chapters that ended on fluff? Fic gods above what is happening?
> 
> Thank you all for your lovely comments and kudos, RL has been something else but it really brightens my day to hear from you. Thank you.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few hours from now Geralt will get his text goodnight and Jaskier won’t have to watch the clock remind him he’s too broken to be useful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helllooo dear readers! It has been a Week. But I can't tell you how much your reading/commenting means to me. It has gotten me through and I thank you immensely for it.  
> Also, a resounding thank you to VeritasRose for betaing.

Jaskier didn’t give it a second thought when Geralt left after breakfast, saying he had to go to the White Wolf for a bit to do some paperwork, but that was two hours ago and Jaskier isn’t getting worried necessarily, no, he’s just _wondering_.

The sound of crunching gravel as a vehicle comes up the drive stills Jaskier’s fingers where they're absently working out chords to a new song, shoulders relaxing as he listens for the garage door to rise but it never comes. At the sound of a car door closing Jaskier sets his guitar aside and stands, hesitating. 

They didn’t order things, he’s not even sure Geralt knows _how_ to order things off line which means there shouldn’t be anyone parked out front. Jaskier snags his phone from the couch, thumbing it open but there’s no message from Yennefer or Eskel saying they were stopping by. 

Jaskier wishes, not for the first time since he left, that Geralt didn’t have to go in. As he pads through the house towards the sunroom he thumbs open his contacts, hovering over Geralt but his phone is normally on silent and so Jaskier scrolls to the White Wolf, someone always answers at the bar and that’s all he needs, _someone_ to come.

Standing before the door to the sunroom Jaskier twitches the sheer aside, phone nearly sliding from his grip as he takes in Geralt’s truck and his boyfriend on the passenger side, helping Betty step down.

Jaskier yanks open the outer door, the cool winter air creeping under his clothes sending shivers through him, reminding him too late that he’s not exactly dressed for company. But Betty has spotted him, smiling at him with a grandmotherly fondness as Geralt escorts her across the driveway and up the steps into the sunroom. 

“Jaskier, it’s so good to see you.” She doesn’t care that Geralt’s shirt is stretched tight across his belly or that he’s wearing soft pants slung low on his hips as she pulls him in for a hug. His eyes burn with tears, he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her until now. 

“I’m sorry, I had no idea you were coming.” Jaskier apologizes but Betty just waves it off.

“Wouldn’t be much of a surprise if he told you.” She says. Geralt rises from where he’d started the small eclectic fireplace behind them, chasing the room’s chill away.

“Tea? Or coffee?” Geralt asks.

“Tea would be lovely, but I’m sure Jaskier here can get us sorted.” Betty counters and something passes between them Jaskier doesn’t quite understand but Geralt nods and with a quick kiss, stolen from Jaskier as he passes, Geralt heads back outside and towards the truck. 

Jaskier watches for a moment before turning back to Betty with a smile. “I’ll go make us some tea.” Betty returns his grin and settles herself on the small couch near the fireplace. 

In the kitchen, Jaskier sets the kettle to boiling, packing two steepers as he waits for the water to boil, debating running upstairs and changing but with a sinking feeling he remembers he has nothing to change into that fits. 

The kettle sounds, pulling Jaskier back from the shame that threatens to swallow him, focusing on the routine of filling the mugs with water, adding creamer to the tray with spoons before heading back to the sunporch, nearly dropping it when he spies Geralt carrying bags of mulch from the truck, adding them to the edging stones already lined up. 

“What?” Jaskier looks at Betty who doesn’t seem the slightest bit surprised Geralt has stripped his Witcher jacket and is kneeling, working the ground loose as he sets the edging stones in a border that extends a couple feet from the house. 

“He knows how much you admired the ones at the apartment and asked me to help him pick some out to plant here for you.” Betty accepts the mug Jaskier offers her, leaning forward she adds a spot of cream to the tea before settling back. Jaskier watches Geralt, torn between insisting he help and sitting with Betty.

“I know that look. You know as well as I do he could’ve picked out the flowers himself.” Betty reminds him, encouraging Jaskier to join her. “He wants to give you this; let him.” 

Jaskier watches Geralt a moment longer, ready to give into the urge to join him but the memory of the fear on Geralt’s face when he’d insisted on going to help Betty still haunts him. With a resigned sigh he joins her on the couch, taking his own mug from the tray he settles in.

Betty catches Jaskier up on her grandchildren as Jaskier fills her in on how Macee and Ciri are doing as they watch Geralt. “I think you’ve told me how everyone is doing but you.” Betty’s smile doesn’t have his automatic deferment coming to his lips, the silence easy between them as he gathers his words.

“I’m good. Better.” Jaskier starts softly, watching as Geralt positions another bulb, carefully covering it over with mulch before shifting over and working on the next bulb. “He takes good care of me.” 

Jaskier blushes, glancing sideways at Betty who tilts her head, a knowing smile on her lips. “The cardiologist mentioned swimming would be good exercise and he’s decided as soon as the weather warms up we’re getting a pool.” Jaskier laughs softly, not sure how to explain how he’d been shaking so badly after the appointment he’d barely made it to the truck, Geralt’s arm around him the only thing keeping him up. That Geralt had taken him home and just held him for hours, reassuring him 

Nothing the doctor said changed anything. Cardiac Rehab was to start next week but anytime Jaskier thought about it his stomach twisted and his palms got clammy. Smoothing his hands on his pants he hopes Betty doesn’t notice the slow breaths he takes trying to calm himself.

It’s not much longer before Geralt stands and studies his work, seeming to find no fault with it that can be fixed today he begins gathering the trash.

“They’ll look lovely when they start to bloom.” Betty comments. 

“You’ll have to come back and see them.” Jaskier can picture it, months from now, this room warmed by the sun, the tulips blooming and the trees starting to green again. Geralt swings open the door, a blast of cold cutting through the cozy warmth.

“Sorry.” Geralt apologizes, quickly shutting the door behind him. 

“No worries, keeps it from getting stuffy.” Jaskier is quick to assure as he rises, moving to stand before the windows, admiring what amounts to little more than fenced mulch. “It looks lovely, thank you.” 

Geralt looks skeptical at Jaskier’s comment. “It _will_ look lovely.” Jaskier counters, drawing a smirk from Geralt. Moving closer Jaskier rests his hands on Geralt’s hips, peering up, “Thank you.” He murmurs, willing Geralt to understand it’s for so much more than just some flowers. 

“Now, go shower while I make lunch.” Geralt turns skeptical again, concern lingering not far behind. “I can handle it.” 

“I’ll keep an eye on him.” Betty assures, only Geralt seeing his fond eye roll. With a reluctant nod Geralt heads into the house, Jaskier turning and offering his arm to Betty, “Shall we?”

o~O~o

“I’ll be fine. _Really._ ” Jaskier reassures. Again. “I swear I’ll call if I need _anything_ and even when I don’t.” The tease eases the concerned frown Geralt had been wearing all morning to something closer to a smile.

If Jaskier were honest he didn’t want Geralt to go back to work, he’d come to enjoy waking in Geralt’s arms and passing the days in each other’s company; reading before the fire or playing songs he was working on for Geralt’s input. But Geralt had already stayed home since his fateful run and though the White Wolf _could_ run, it didn’t mean things weren’t piling up that he needed to address. 

“ _Anything_.” Geralt reminds, knowing Jaskier will hold off calling on the unfounded fear he’s being a burden. It still worried him, the chest pains that plague Jaskier, though the doctor said they were common after a heart attack. 

With a kiss and another reminder answered by an assurance, Geralt is gone and Jaskier is alone.

The first hours pass easy enough, Jaskier busying himself with light housework, planning out what he would teach Ciri next. The struggle comes as dinner creeps closer, Jaskier delaying longer and longer until a text from Geralt comes through. 

_Sorry I won’t be home for dinner. Go ahead and eat without me._

Jaskier swallows, Geralt so easily voiding his latest excuse. Jaskier stares at his phone, knowing Geralt will worry if he doesn’t respond but all that comes to mind are carefully worded lies. Long moments later Jaskier picks up his phone, painstakingly typing out _No worries. We have leftovers. Breakfast date it_ _is_! He adds a string of emojis he doesn’t quite feel and sends it before he can delete it, inevitably unhappy until Geralt would call worried.

Dinner is thawed chicken and rice, a salad and for dessert Jaskier sets out one of his special yogurts. All lined up on the island, Jaskier debates going to the couch but he knows it would feel even more cold without Geralt. Too many mornings have been started at this counter for Jaskier to end his night at it alone. 

The table seems emptier with only him at it, the same full wall windows looking out on the dark yard and forest beyond reflect only Jaskier, serving to remind him he’s alone. 

Dinner is tasteless, mechanical in that he knows he should finish what Geralt so carefully portioned out. The yogurt is left for last, strawberry cheesecake, one of his favorites but it no longer holds appeal and is quietly returned to the fridge.

The clock seems out to mock Jaskier, too many hours before Geralt will be home, though Jaskier knows if he asked it would be a matter of minutes.

Jaskier busies himself with doing the few dishes from his dinner, taking extra care to dry them and replace them in the cabinet before wiping down and drying the sink, leaving everything cleaner than when he started.

When there’s nothing left to occupy him he pads back to the living room, ensuring the fire is dampened, he heads upstairs, sitting on the edge of the bed he finally swipes his phone open. Jaskier carefully taps out the message, studying it, reading it aloud to make sure it’s what he wants before poking _Schedule Send_ and laying down.

A few hours from now Geralt will get his text goodnight and Jaskier won’t have to watch the clock remind him he’s too broken to be useful.

o~O~o

The second day goes little better. The housework done soon after Geralt leaves, too many hours stretching between Jaskier and an acceptable time to sleep, all threatening to be unfilled.

It occurs to Jaskier as he’s doodling notes in his songbook that he should start teaching Ciri to read sheet music, soon enough she could be picking out songs to practice on her own. The debate only lasts a few minutes, the doctor had said he could drive himself to work and Jaskier didn’t think a few days would make that big a difference on the driving front. 

In his excitement, Jaskier easily forgot his ongoing problem until it was staring him in the face. The mirror over the back of Geralt’s dresser reminding Jaskier his pants are no closer to fitting, the past weeks of inactivity only serving to settle in his belly; Geralt’s shirt no longer long enough to mask his shame.

Tears burn his eyes, blurring together his reflection with the row of picture frames atop the dresser. All the people witness to his ruin and tucked among them, the one who was gone long before it started. 

o~O~o

Geralt had tried. He really had.

Jaskier not responding to a text wasn’t cause for immediate concern, he _knew_ this even if he didn’t want to accept it; but hours had passed, the message remaining unread.

It was his family, none wanting to inquire a second time but all wanting to know, that finally sent him on his way with a promise he would send word lest they show up on his doorstep. 

Geralt’s only slightly comforted when he opens the door, lights on and Jaskier’s playing sounding through the house, but there’s something off that he can’t quite put a name to. Geralt spares a glance around the kitchen, knowing it’s a pointless gesture as Jaskier is always insistent about doing the dishes and putting them away, seemingly more so since he’s been home the past couple weeks.

The scan reveals nothing, even if Jaskier had dinner there’s no trace of it to be found and Geralt reminds himself Jaskier is doing better and that he needs trust, not to feel like his eating is being monitored or judged.

It’s as Geralt heads toward the archway, Jaskier sitting on the couch before the fire, that Geralt puts name to the cold feeling creeping through him. Jaskier isn’t playing just any song, the melody is familiar if not the tone, a sorrowful version of You Are My Sunshine, drawing to an end before it’s started again, an endless loop. 

Geralt’s boots are loud on the hardwood but do little to announce his presence to Jaskier who keeps playing. Only when Geralt rounds the couch is he able to see the tears silently tracking down Jaskier’s face, the vacant look to his eyes that warn Geralt he’s retreated far inside himself to a place he shouldn’t be. 

“Jask?” His fingers slip from the strings, head slowly turning to Geralt and it’s somehow worse, knowing Jaskier registered him home, lost wherever he was, but still couldn’t find his way out and Geralt has never been grateful for Jaskier’s playing to stop, not until this moment.

Gently taking the guitar from his lax grip, Geralt sets it to the side, unable to bear hearing another echo of that song. Jaskier huffs a laugh that sends chills through Geralt who knows there’s only ever one person he thinks about when it comes to this song. 

"It’s better that she died... _before_.” Jaskier nods to himself, the twisted reasoning easy for Geralt to untangle after having heard the song so many times. 

"Jask–" His name is thick, a plea to stop, to give him a moment, he feels like he's on Roach when she goes down; no longer in control, just along for the ride.

"She would have been so disappointed with me. With what I’ve become.” Jaskier wraps still far too thin arms around himself, pained eyes searching the space before him as though he expects to find absolution there. Geralt closes his eyes, breathing deeply as he allows the hurt to wash over him for that one breath before he’s tucking it down with the rest. 

Geralt takes his normal seat on the couch, back pressed against the armrest and Jaskier is easily encouraged to lay against his chest, sinking into the softness that wasn’t there months before. Geralt strokes Jaskier’s arm, the tears tapering off under his care as he tries to figure out what life Jaskier was supposed to have and how he could get him back to it. What dreams did his mom have for her little dandelion?

And though he doesn’t want to make the offer, selfishly wants to keep him, to keep being _his,_ Geralt knows it’s never been about what he wants and so he offers. “Whatever you were supposed to be Jask, I’ll make it happen. Just tell me.” 

A silence drags out, Geralt growing more unsure the longer it stretches, grateful Jaskier didn’t outright laugh at him but fearing what destiny he was supposed to have that could be taking him so long to put into words.

“I wish you’d met her.” Jaskier murmurs, turning so his chin digs into Geralt’s chest, watery blue eyes so filled with regret as he continues, “She would have loved you. Would have thanked you.” 

Geralt’s eyes burn with tears, certain Jaskier’s mom wouldn’t have thanked him for nearly letting her son die, twice. Geralt almost doesn’t catch it, Jaskier turning so his cheek is pressed against Geralt’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as he says. “This is what I was supposed to have, what she wanted for me. To be loved.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I mean that *technically* ended on fluff. Fluff adjacent at the very least. Ok, ok, fine...flangst? So that's 3.75/7 ending in fluff. Not too shabby. 
> 
> As Veritas helped me realize I like to give the one-two punch, have some feels, now let me bruise them. But that's why you're here. Isn't it?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m ok. I’ll be ok. And your cub is here, who better to watch over me?” Jaskier murmurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back my loveliest of readers! I am ever so happy to have you here. And while I have you here do we need to do a feels check? They healed up from Saturday?  
> As always, a lovely thank you to VeritasRose for keeping me grammarical.

“You know Yenn will understand if you’re not up for it.” Geralt murmurs, eyes dropping to Jaskier’s hand where it’s rubbing the side of his stomach as though trying to soothe a cramp. Attention having been drawn to the action, Jaskier’s cheeks burn and he reluctantly accepts his rainbow tumbler, filled with a smoothie he’s supposed to drink even though lunch wasn’t that long past and he was still full. 

Ciri was due to be dropped off in a little over an hour, about the same time Geralt would be headed into work for the night, leaving Jaskier to babysit. Geralt resumes his place on the couch, normally Jaskier wouldbe trying to tuck himself into Geralt’s side before he’s even fully down but this afternoon he makes no motion, concerning Geralt even more. 

Jaskier’s gaze doesn’t move from the fire, his song journal propped open but the page still blank from where he’d been trying to feign absorbment as he says, “I weigh more than when we met.” Geralt is grateful Jaskier doesn’t see his face, otherwise he surely would have misunderstood the fear and confusion that flashes across it. They’d been so careful at doctor appointments to keep Jaskier from seeing the scale, he was _nearly_ at a healthy weight for his height and they knew the numbers would only serve to support his perception of failure rather than success. His increasingly quiet demeanor now made sense, he had found out his weight somehow and now had another combatant in his mind to fight. 

“Jask,” Geralt starts but tired blue eyes turn on him, head tilted just so as he holds up the rainbow tumbler, a bitter smile curling his lips. Geralt doesn’t know how to fix this, doesn’t have any idea what to say to make Jaskier understand those are just numbers, that he hung on the cardiologists every word and can recite verbatim the information packet they were sent home with. So Geralt does what he’s always done when words fail him, he wraps an arm around Jaskier’s shoulder, tucking him into his side where he belongs, gentle fingers soothing the spot Jaskier had been rubbing as he chokes down the smoothie he needs but has no desire for.

o~O~o

“I can’t do this.” It’s not so much the words as the distraught tone that draws Geralt’s attention from where he’s changing for work, Ciri and Yennefer due to arrive any minute. Jaskier stands in the middle of their bedroom, tears in his eyes and every pair of jeans he owns scattered about him.

“They don’t fit, _none_ of them fit. And Ciri’s coming over and–” Jaskier’s mouth snaps shut with an audible clack, arms wrapping around himself and Geralt knows he’s ashamed of his breakdown, of drawing attention to the issue he’s been avoiding for weeks.

Geralt was starting to think Yennefer’s suggestion to have Jaskier watch Ciri wasn’t such a good idea after all. It was meant to be a way to cheer him up, a white lie that her usual babysitter had something suddenly come up and would Jaskier mind? He’d been quick to accept, excitedly telling Geralt how he wanted to teach her sheet music even as he tapped out a response. 

But that had been before breakfast, before the day fully started and Jaskier felt weighed down by food, before Geralt watched as he retreated into himself, growing quieter and quieter with each passing hour. 

“You were fine in what you had on.” Geralt tries but he’s not even finished before Jaskier is giving him a flat look that speaks his disagreement. “Want to borrow a pair of mine?”

Jaskier’s head ducks at the offer but not before Geralt catches the tears welling in his eyes; the cardiologist had assured them the mood swings would taper off as the shock of the heart attack faded. Geralt gently rubs Jaskier’s arms, wanting to hold him close but not sure the embrace would be welcome.

“You’re supposed to wear your boyfriend’s clothes.” Geralt tells him, hoping to earn a watery smile.

“They’re supposed to fit.” Jaskier mumbles, hand drifting down to tug at the hem of Geralt’s shirt where even it’s starting to ride up, not meant to be stretched as it has been. 

“Why don’t we go clothes shopping tomorrow, get you some things you’re comfortable in.” This isn’t the first time clothes shopping has occurred to Geralt, it’s just the first time he’s dared to suggest it but Jaskier shrinks under the offer. 

“That’s ok, I don’t…” Jaskier eases out of Geralt’s gentle touch, slowly working to refold his jeans. Geralt watches him, afraid what he says next will do more damage but it’s all he can think.

“Yenna loves shopping, I’m sure she’d be happy to have some company.” Jaskier’s movements slow with each word, giving a sideways look to Geralt who regrets the notion as the silence grows. 

“You don’t,” Jaskier pauses and Geralt waits. Waits for Jaskier’s mind to twist what he’s said, to make Jaskier believe Geralt doesn’t _want_ to go with him, that he pities him. “Think she’d mind? Again?” Jaskier glances to Geralt who fights to keep his breath even under the weight of relief. 

“Not at all.” Geralt assures. Jaskier nods, continuing to put away his jeans until he’s left with the soft pants that've become his usual, jaw clenched as he stares at them. “Here.” Geralt offers a pair of his own jeans, knowing they’ll be too long but the waist has a hope of fitting at least. 

Jaskier takes them, unable to meet Geralt’s eyes, his shoulders hunched as he turns away, pulling them on, Geralt busying himself with tying his hair back to give him privacy. It’s only at the whimpered, “ _No_ ,” does Geralt turn. 

The cuffs of his jeans pool around Jaskier’s feet but otherwise they fit and that fact seems to be causing Jaskier distress, his hand fluttering as he fights the urge to take them off, to rid himself of yet another shame.

“Jask.” Geralt steps closer, gently pulling him into a hug.

“They fit.” The words are hot against Geralt’s chest. “They shouldn’t, they shouldn’t but–” Jaskier’s disbelief is cut off with a soft whine, Geralt feeling his breathing hitch more than hearing it. He wants to ease Jaskier back, to reassure him it’s not as bad as he thinks, that they’re his old jeans, that he’s not the only one who’s had to get new pants, months of skipping workouts with Lambert and Eskel having finally caught up with him. 

But Geralt knows Jaskier’s mind well enough to know how it will twist this, how Jaskier will take this news as his own fault or worse, that he’ll realize the hurt he’s inadvertently caused and so he just holds him.

o~O~o

“Julian!” Ciri’s call brings a smile to Jaskier’s face as she races across the yard towards them, Jaskier opening the door in time for Ciri to barrel through, tackling first him and then Geralt. 

“I swear this is all natural. No sugar added.” Yennefer warns them as she walks up, exchanging a look with Geralt, wondering if maybe this isn’t the best idea today after all. But Jaskier is smiling for the first time today and Geralt can’t bear to take that from him, besides, Ciri knows to call should anything happen.

“Nah, we’ll have fun tonight, won’t we?” Jaskier assures her, looking at Ciri who beams at him.

“Yep! I’ll be the bestest sitter and take care of you.” Ciri grins. Jaskier, catching Yennefer and Geralt’s mirrored winces, suddenly understands all too well.

“I’m sure you will.” Jaskier chokes the words, arms wrapping around himself as though he can ward off their concern. 

“We forgot your bag in the car.” Yennefer reminds Ciri, holding her hand out she draws Ciri to her, giving Geralt a moment alone with Jaskier. The sunroom door closes behind them, Jaskier watching Ciri and Yennefer through the windows, arms a bruising grip about himself. 

“It’s not,” Geralt starts but when Jaskier doesn’t acknowledge he’s spoken, he falters, trying again. “I worry. I hate that you’re here alone. That I wouldn’t know until...until…” Geralt can’t get the words out, that he fears a phone call from the hospital, but that would mean Jaskier was even able to call. That he’d had the sense of self-preservation to call rather than think himself just another burden and will it to go away. Each night driving home Geralt wills Jaskier to be awake, to be playing his guitar if only so when he opens the door it’s not silence that greets him but Jaskier’s passion.

The unspoken admission draws Jaskier’s attention, his arms loosening, moving he pulls Geralt into a hug, feeling his fear as Geralt holds him close. 

“I’m ok. I’ll _be_ ok. And your cub is here, who better to watch over me?” Jaskier murmurs.

“Hmm.” Geralt squeezes Jaskier tight before releasing him. Blue eyes catching his, “I love you.” 

“You know I love you.” Geralt tells him, earning the days’ second smile. Jaskier keeps his arm loose about Geralt’s waist as they watch Ciri and Yennefer return, the formerproudly carrying her purple guitar case. 

Geralt takes the case and her tiny backpack, the spare room’s dresser already storing clothes, pj’s and her toiletries, and heads into the house. 

“Come tell me bye, I won’t see you until the morning.” Ciri goes to Yennefer, easily throwing her arms around her mom who’s knelt down. “Night mommy, love you.” 

As soon as it's started it’s over, “I go tell Pama bye.” Ciri says, dashing through the open door to the house as though Geralt wouldn’t be returning briefly.

The moment threatens to be awkward, Yennefer unable to thank him without acknowledging the whole thing was a setup heavy between them. 

“Would you,” Jaskier swallows, having practiced asking so many times, convincing himself he should ask in person as a text mere hours after seeing her, when he’s supposed to be watching her daughter, would be more awkward. “Mind going clothes shopping with me?” The words are rushed, Yennefer requiring a moment to space them out and make sense of them, during which Jaskier’s stomach twists painfully.

“Nevermind. You don’t–” Jaskier tries to take the words back, wills his burning cheeks to cool. For the briefest of moments Jaskier wishes Ciri weren’t staying, that he could crawl in bed and sleep the night away. 

“I’d love to.” Yennefer cuts him off, a gentle hand on his arm as concerned eyes study him, the tight smile doing little to reassure. “How does tomorrow sound? Geralt can watch Ciri and we’ll make a morning of it.”

Jaskier wants to beg off, push it to next weekend, or never preferably, but he _needs_ clothes and he starts back to work next week.

Work where he’ll need pants that can close and the larger work shirts he had to request. “Tomorrow is great.” 

Yennefer starts to protest, either the day or the look on his face but Ciri and Geralt reappear, Ciri taking up place next to Jaskier as Geralt looks between the two but Yennefer doesn't call him out, not now.

“Tomorrow then.” Yennefer gives Jaskier a quick hug, relieved when he isn’t tensed in her arms. With a kiss goodbye from Geralt it’s just Jaskier and Ciri.

The night goes smoothly, Ciri excited to show Jaskier how she’s been practicing and catches on pretty easily to reading sheet music. If it weren’t for a text from Yennefer checking in Jaskier wouldn’t have realized how late it's gotten.

Jaskier’s tapping out an assurance accompanied by a photo of Ciri and her guitar when she announces, “I’m hungry.” 

Jaskier is grateful his head is ducked so Ciri doesn’t see him wince, he’d known she was going to need to eat, it was just another challenge he’d pushed aside to deal with when absolutely necessary.

“What sounds good?” If Sunday dinners were any indication, Ciri wasn’t a picky eater, or if she was, Geralt was good about making things he knew she would eat.

“Pizza!” Ciri declares, not yet burdened by the knowledge of calories or partner's expectations. Jaskier turns the options over in his head, they could order from wherever she liked and he could have one of his smoothies or they could go to the store and pick up a frozen one. Only he technically wasn’t released to drive until Monday and he wouldn’t risk it, not with Ciri in the car.

“Pizza it shall be. A fine choice m’lady.” Ciri giggles at Jaskier’s antics and a bit of the lightness Jaskier had felt as they played guitar together returns. “What’s your favorite place? We’ll have to pull up their menu unless you know what you want.” Jaskier says, thumbing awake his phone.

“Nooo.” Ciri draws out in the same tone as _duh_. “We’ve gots to make them. On tortoise shells.” 

“You...what?” Jaskier laughs the question, wondering if Ciri was having him on. 

“Pama maked them that way.” Ciri insists through her own giggles. 

“Does he now?” Jaskier taps out a quick text to Geralt, asking if there’s any tortoise shells they can use for dinner. “Guess we better get started.” 

Ciri runs ahead of Jaskier into the kitchen and through to the laundry room to retrieve her stool. Once she has it positioned by the counter she heads into the pantry, calling for Jaskier when she’s too short to reach the jar of sauce. 

A text from Geralt explains she means _tortilla_ shells and Jaskier briefly marvels at how he didn’t so much as question Jaskier’s seemingly random inquiry. 

“Your Pama taught me how to make these a couple weeks ago.” Jaskier tells Ciri as she happily sprinkles cheese over her sauce covered shell. This he can handle, light sauce and cheese on veggie shells, toasted in the oven. 

“He teaches me how to make lots of things.” Ciri informs Jaskier seriously. Dinner passes easily enough, Ciri eyes Jaskier’s one pizza to her two but makes no comment, even when he pours himself a smoothie; hoping the pains won’t get any worse, not tonight.

“Catan?” Ciri asks hopefully from her place on her stool as she finishes drying the dishes. Though Jaskier doesn’t know a specific time he’s fairly certain Ciri should be in bed soon, much sooner than the time Geralt makes it home which he’s sure her intent is.

“Catan.” Jaskier agrees, Ciri’s cheer nearly drowning out his caveat. “In pajamas. At least pretend we’re responsible.” Ciri’s laugh trails her as she races from the kitchen. Jaskier turns, flattening his palms on the island counter, he lets his head hang from his shoulders and tries to breath through the pain banding his belly, reminding himself it’s a phantom fullness, that he really hasn’t eaten that much today. 

Ciri steps sound on the stair, signaling Jaskier’s time is up and with a final fortifying breath he picks up his rainbow tumbler still half filled with smoothie and meets her in the living room. 

The game board is spread across the coffee table, Ciri claiming Geralt’s blanket as her own, draping it about her shoulders its folds easily swallowing her. With each passing game Ciri’s yawns grow longer, her blinks slower until Jaskier calls it. Ciri scrambling onto the couch with a sleep slurred, “Jus’ til’ Pama home.” 

Jaskier doesn’t have it in him to send her away and though he tries to fight it, sleep claims him. 

“Jask.” A gentle shake of his shoulder accompanies his name and Jaskier forces his eyes open, body and mind heavy with sleep. Geralt stands before him, a tender smile that clears the haze from him. 

“You’re home.” Jaskier stretches up and Geralt leans down, answering his quest for a kiss. 

“Looks like you had fun.” Geralt notes, Ciri’s guitar still sits out, the game, reboxed, rests on the coffee table. Geralt cuts off Jaskier’s embarrassment with a soft, “Let’s go to bed.” 

Jaskier glances guiltily at Ciri, “I didn’t know if…if I could…” Jaskier stumbles over how to explain he’d feared dropping her, her slight weight still too much for the damage he’d wrought. The possibility he might have dropped her, hurt her, stole his breath and pinned him to the couch. 

Concern tightens Geralt’s features at Jaskier’s words, exchanging one of Jaskier’s anxieties for another. 

“I’ve got her.” Geralt gathers Ciri into his arms who mumbles nonsense as she snuggles closer, small hand fisting in his shirt near his heart. Jaskier follows Geralt upstairs, turning the lights off behind them. Jaskier slips ahead of Geralt and into the room, smiling at the wolf stuffed animal standing guard next to the pillow as he pulls the covers back. 

By the time Geralt steps from the bathroom, pajamas sticking to damp skin, Jaskier is already in bed, tired blue eyes watching him, eyeing the soft pants Geralt’s donned, knowing he wants to be ready should Ciri need him. Jaskier waits until Geralt is settled before shifting closer, Geralt’s arm wrapping around his waist pulls him close and for the first time since dinner Jaskier’s pain eases. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you look at that, I flipped it around on you for a change. Start with the hurt and end with the fluff. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! It means so much to me and I hope you have a wonderful week!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer gathers him into a hug, hating how fragile he still feels in her arms, how he holds himself rigid as though he doesn't deserve to accept her kindness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Oh I can't express how happy I am that you're here. Your comments have brigthened a rough week, thank you <3  
> Big thank you to VeritasRose for betaing this fic!

“It’ll be fine. You can be done whenever you want.” Geralt quietly reassures Jaskier, knowing the look means he’ll be lucky to get a smoothie down. 

“I know I just–” Jaskier cuts himself off as Ciri walks into the kitchen, as grateful as he is disappointed. He knew Geralt would reassure him, accept his fears and soothe rather than dismiss them, but he’d been enough of a burden these weeks and the last thing he wants is Geralt to witness yet another meltdown over clothes. He could be better than that. He _would_ be.

Geralt gives Jaskier a look that clearly says he’s worried about whatever Jaskier was going to say but Jaskier turns his focus on the archway and the footsteps pattering towards them. 

“Good morning!” Ciri bounds into the kitchen, wide awake and already excited at the prospect of spending the day with her Pama. 

“Good morning, Ciri.” Geralt and Jaskier greet her, Ciri giggling at their tandem greeting as she hugs first one then the other. 

“I fell asleep before yous got home.” Ciri informs Geralt as though he weren’t the one to put her to bed. “But I watched Jaskier. We had dinner and he taught me to read and we played Catan.” Geralt glances to Jaskier, Ciri knew how to read, she was always devouring books.

“Sheet music.” Jaskier supplies and Geralt nods. 

“We made pizza for dinner and Jaskier had a smoothie.” Ciri, proud of how well she cared for her Julian, reports to Geralt. “But then I fells asleep.” Geralt catches the pained look on Jaskier’s face before he can fully bury it in the fridge, wanting to gather him in his arms and reassure him but he just smiles at Ciri and asks her what she wants for breakfast. 

Geralt starts the french toast while Ciri helps Jaskier set the table, fresh fruit joining the powdered sugar and juice. Jaskier tries, he really does but only manages two bites before he’s pushing his plate away, mouth a grim line. 

It’s as they’re finishing breakfast that Yennefer arrives, her voice ringing through the house in greeting.

“Mommy!” Ciri scrambles out of her chair and from the kitchen.

“You ok?” Geralt asks, taking their brief opportunity to ask the question that’s behind his watchful gaze since Ciri’s comment.

“Yeah.” The word rings hollow even to Jaskier, Geralt’s frown deepening but Yennefer and Ciri reappear in the kitchen, Jaskier forcing a smile.

“Good morning. Sounds like you had quite the night.” Though her tone is light, Yennefer’s eyes flick between Jaskier and Geralt, knowing something, if not what, is up.

“It was fun. And soon she’ll be reading sheet music on her own.” Jaskier informs Yennefer, Ciri beaming beside her. 

“And then I gets to go to the music store and pick out songs.” Ciri informs her.

“Sounds like fun.” Yennefer smiles her thanks.

“Want some breakfast? We have plenty.” Geralt offers, not missing the way Jaskier seems to shrink as though Geralt were passively scolding him for not eating what he’d made him. 

Geralt’s already rising but Yennefer waves him back down. “I’m good. Just some coffee.” Yennefer leaves her purse on the island as she heads for the cabinet of coffee mugs.

“I’ll go get dressed.” Jaskier excuses himself, his gaze coming close but not quite able to look at Geralt and Yennefer doesn’t miss the look from Geralt that follows him out.

“Why don’t you get washed up?” Yennefer suggests to Ciri who lingers, looking to protest but a _look_ from Yennefer has her sliding from her chair and leaving the kitchen. Yennefer watches until she’s out of sight before turning back to Geralt.

“Rough morning?” Yennefer knows they don’t have much time but Jaskier looked ready to break.

Geralt doesn’t reassure her, doesn’t brush it off, just takes another long swallow of tea and that’s answer enough. Yennefer debates pressing, the memory of the last time they hadn’t pushed still haunted her, the fallout still falling around them. 

In the silence, she studies Geralt, noting for the first time how worn he looks, the usually proud shoulders are slumped and tired golden eyes settle on her, expectant.

“We can take Ciri with us or I’m sure Triss wouldn’t mind watching her.” Yennefer offers, surprise clear on Geralt’s face, unprepared for such a suggestion silence sits between them.

“Yenna.” Yennefer doesn’t expect such hurt in Geralt’s tone, her name a warning, but she doesn’t know what line she’s crossed. Before she can ask Geralt’s gaze shifts, drawing hers to an unsure Jaskier hovering in the archway.

“Ready?” Yennefer can’t tell how much he’s heard but Jaskier looks between them, clearly uncomfortable. 

o~O~o

“Looking for anything in particular?” Yennefer asks as they seem to aimlessly wander through the clothing racks. Jaskier had stopped at a few but had only absently flipped through before drifting away, looking more and more distressed with each one. 

“Jeans...shirts.” Jaskier murmurs. Yennefer nods, watching as he frowns at the selection before him, skinny jeans that he favors, hand hovering over one pair before his features tighten and his hand drops back to his side.

“I can go if you’d–” Yennefer doesn’t get the chance to finish before Jaskier is cutting her off, his head jerking up. 

“ _No_. I mean if you want…” Jaskier’s glance slides off her as though he can’t quite bring himself to look at her directly. Yennefer wishes she had pressed Geralt more at breakfast, gotten a better idea, _any_ idea, of what was going on. 

Offering what she hopes is a reassuring smile, Yennefer reminds him, “If you don’t see anything here you like we can try one of the other stores.” It was meant to be encouraging, a reassurance that she wants him to get the clothes he wants but Jaskier’s cheeks burn and tears well in his eyes as he slowly flicks through the closest rack. 

“Jaskier?” Yennefer says his name with such care and concern he can’t help but break. Tears run down his face as shame burns his cheeks, making it so much worse as he tries to pretend he’s anywhere but here. Geralt’s words come back to him, that he can go home whenever he wants but he _can’t_. 

He starts back at the museum and he can’t stand the added pain of pants biting into him hour after hour, can’t stand another day of Geralt seeing him in lounge pants because they’re all that fit. He knows he’s ruining Geralt’s shirts, the once fitted tees now hang loose about his stomach from where they’ve been stretched by his own. 

“None of these will fit.” Jaskier whispers, eyes flicking to Yennefer but he finds only care, no pity. "None of these will fit, or they won't by the end of the day. Every time I eat I just get... _fatter_ ," Jaskier spits the word, arms wrapped tight around himself and Yennefer wants to stop him but knows he needs to get this out, that she needs to understand.

"And I know I need to eat and I do...it just _hurts_ and I just...I want to be me again." Jaskier's shoulders shake, silent tears streaking down his face as he murmurs, "I'm sorry to waste your time.”

Yennefer gathers him into a hug, hating how fragile he still feels in her arms, how he holds himself rigid as though he doesn't deserve to accept her kindness.

"You're never wasting my time. Ok?" She waits until he relaxes the slightest bit, his own arms coming up and tentatively hugging her back. She rubs her hand in what she hopes is soothing circles on his back until his breathing evens out. "I know you're trying, we all do and we're proud of you because we know how you're hurting but you never say a word." She gently tilts his head back up from where he's ducked it.

She'd read the research, they all had and so she had a good idea what hurt he was talking about, that ‘fatter’ was really just bloating as his digestion struggled from months of neglect. The sites had warned tenderness would be common, soft clothes recommended as well as hot water bottles and massage to ease the ache when possible. 

“I’m sorry I–” Jaskier’s voice is whisper thin. 

"Don't do that." The abrupt change in Yennefer's tone snaps Jaskier's attention to her. "Don't lessen what you've survived. What you've fought to survive. It's ok to need comfort, to be gentle with yourself." Jaskier’s shoulders ease from where they’re hunched and she wonders how many times Geralt has told him this very thing, had to reassure him of something so obvious. 

“Thank you.” Jaskier meets her eyes with a small, though honest, smile.

“Would you rather go home? We can try this another day.” Yennefer suggests. Jaskier desperately wants to say yes, to give in and go home where Geralt will hold him and tell him everything will be ok. 

“I can’t. I need clothes for work.” Jaskier forces the words out, knowing once he’s admitted them Yennefer won’t let him give in so easily and will fight for him to press on. 

“We can manage that.” She sounds so sure it gives the smallest bit of hope to Jaskier. “Any requirements? Khakis or are jeans fine?” 

“Jeans, just no rips or frays.” Jaskier says, anxiety easing slightly. Pants. They would just focus on pants now and the rest could come...later. 

Yennefer scans the racks around them, the ones he’d picked through and the ones he’d yet to with the same critical gaze and seeming to find them wanting settles back on him. “I will be right back.” 

Panic rises within him, though rationally he knows she’s not leaving the store he didn’t want to do this alone. Hurt drowns the panic as he realizes how he must have embarrassed her, crying like a child in the middle of the shop, no wonder she was leaving.

“I’m just going to find an associate. I just have a question.” Jaskier doesn’t know if she can see the fear on his face or if she’s just filling in the silence from him not acknowledging her, but either way he nods. She sets off and he flicks through the rack again, trying to ignore the colored number flags on top of the hangers as he passes what once fit to the size he _might_ fit in, eyes burning at how much extra fabric there is between the two, his mind helpfully supplying the difference in numbers.

Jaskier knows he should stop, that this isn’t good for him, but this is where Yennefer left him and so he doesn’t dare stray, not wanting to be more of a burden when she returns only to find he’s wandered off. He moves to the other side of the clothing stand, looking through the same jeans now in black, these not even going high enough to come in his size. 

On one of his glances after her, Yennefer does appear, striding back towards him and Jaskier abandons all pretense and heads towards her, meeting her in the aisle. 

“I have an idea.” Yennefer says by way of greeting as she looks around and, seeming to spy whatever she’s looking for, gives Jaskier a grin and tilts her head, signaling him to follow her lead. Yennefer doesn’t stop at any of the racks of clothing but rather at a stand of shelves, jeans carefully folded and arranged with sizes getting larger the further down the shelf. 

Yennefer turns to him, expectant and it’s only when Jaskier looks closer does he note the very specific difference between these jeans and all the others. 

“I’d like to go home.” Jaskier’s cheeks burn with shame as he turns away, chastising himself for not insisting on just meeting her, knowing he could just call Geralt to come get him but that would take time, though it would be better than riding back with her. 

“Jask.” Jaskier tenses at the name she had no right to call him. “ _Jaskier_.” She tries again, a light hand on his arm questioning more than insisting is the only reason he slows to a stop. He won’t call Geralt, he can at least find his own way home. 

“I’m sorry. It’s not...I’m not mocking you.” Yennefer says. Jaskier wants to believe her, some part of him _knows_ she would never do that, but it _hurts._

“I know.” A new shame washes over Jaskier. She was just trying to help and once again he’s been ignorant towards her. “I’m sorry.” Jaskier hates this, hates himself and how he can’t seem to control his emotions anymore. 

“I would take offense too, in fact I think I have. Ask Triss, she’s the one that told me about them.” Jaskier huffs a laugh. “I just thought they might help, be a little more forgiving at the end of the day.” 

“Sorry.” Jaskier says again, knowing it’s not nearly large enough to cover how rude he’s been.

“That’s your last one. You really want to make it up to me try a pair on, you don’t like ‘em they’ll never darken your closet again.” Yennefer teases and Jaskier nods, it’s the least he can do.

She leads them back to the shelves, the sign proudly proclaiming _Stretch Jeans!,_ no more inviting this time around. His eyes automatically skip to the size he’s worn for years before dropping to the shelf below, stomach twisting as the numbers creep higher until he spies Geralt’s size, the size he’s currently wearing. With a sideways glance at Yennefer he crouches and pulls free a pair and then a size up, not wanting to have to come back should the first size not fit. 

“Want to try those on or move onto shirts?” Yennefer asks.

“Shirts.” Jaskier sighs, knowing he only has one trip to the dressing rooms in him and he best make it count. Yennefer nods in understanding and sets off again with a similar look to when she’d gone looking for a sales associate. The shirts are easy enough to find but the letters soon have numbers before them and Jaskier’s hand drifts towards the hem of his borrowed shirt, tugging it absently. 

“Do you,” Yennefer pauses, clearly uncomfortable with what she’s going to ask next. 

“This is a large, but I borrowed it from Geralt.” Jaskier supplies, looking at the neatly folded shirts rather than her. He senses more than sees her walk off and he reminds himself she wasn’t leaving him because she was disgusted with him, she was probably just bored waiting but somehow that wasn’t better. 

The shirts are organized by color and then size, though Jaskier bitterly doubts the color will make much difference at his size. He’s flipping through a stack of royal blue shirts, hope shrinking as the stack grows smaller and there’s no sight of his size coming up when Yennefer approaches.

“I got a couple different sizes so you can see which you feel most comfortable in.” Jaskier glances up from where he’s crouched, _Slim Fit_ mocking him from the tag dangling from the front shirt in her hands. 

Hurt threatens to pin him to the floor, that he might not rise under the weight of her mocking and he honestly thinks he might be sick as the little he managed for breakfast in his stomach twists painfully. 

“Hey, come here, it’s not what you think.” Yennefer holds up her hand but Jaskier doesn’t take it. He falls a step back when he rises, as though putting physical distance between them will lessen the sick feeling. “You have really nice shoulders and hiding in Geralt’s shirt is doing nothing to show them off.” 

Jaskier eyes the shirt skeptically, knowing Yennefer wouldn’t purposefully pick out something just to be cruel but he was obviously the furthest thing from slim. 

“Just try one on.” Yennefer implores as she flicks through the hangers hooked over her hand, deciding on one she unhooks it and offers it with an encouraging smile. Jaskier reminds himself he’s going to the dressing room and it makes it easier to accept the shirt from her, forcing his eyes not to look too closely at the ones she’d kept back 

“Dressing room?” Jaskier asks, knowing he should pick one of the shirts he’d been looking through in his size regardless of the color but he really just wants to be done, he _needs_ to be done. 

The changing rooms are easy enough to find and Yennefer settles into one of the chairs in the hallway leading to them, the very picture of _not_ bored as she says. “If you want me to grab you anything just let me know.” 

Jaskier nods and ducks into the first empty room, hanging the clothes on one of the many hooks he pointedly turns away from the mirror, wishing there were a handy hook above it instead. He knows there’s no difference between starting with the pants or shirt, he’s loathe to try both so he strips to his boxers and keeps the mirror to his back.

He slips the shirt off its hanger, wanting to hide the pale expanse of his stomach, the fabric soft and cool as he pulls it on. It’s tight but not in an uncomfortable way, more in a way that feels like his old shirts, it feels comfortable and fitting around his chest and though it hugs the curve of his stomach it doesn’t cling. The pants are next, the fabric thinner than denim and not nearly as stiff, resting low on his hips he’s tentatively pleased to find they don’t pinch. He feels only a little foolish as he takes a test sit on the chair tucked against the stall wall, but the waistband doesn’t bite into his hips or underbelly, doesn’t feel like they’re cutting into him. 

Jaskier rises and with a deep breath opens the door, peeking out he finds only Yennefer and so he steps out and pads towards her, drawing her attention. She takes him in, smile growing as she looks him over and it’s the most honest reaction he could hope for.

“They fit you nicely. Black really is more Geralt’s color.” Yennefer teases gently and Jaskier ducks his head. He’d always liked color and patterns and all the things Valdo said were obnoxious. Yennefer’s guiding arm around his shoulder encourages him around and he finds himself facing the tri-fold mirror set in the changing room’s lobby.

The jeans look like normal skinny jeans, hugging to his legs he doubts anyone would know they weren’t true jeans. The shirt adheres to his form, where Geralt’s were bunched and loose in the chest and arms this fits him and gives him shape, a shape that he doesn’t cringe from immediately. 

Jaskier had avoided mirrors for so long the difference is startling but not as unfortunate as he'd expected. Though his stomach is prominent, it doesn't look nearly as bad as it did as the rest of him has approached what he can grudgingly admit is healthy on his better days. Even his hair, having stopped falling out, is regaining that shine that Macee insisted wasn't fair guys achieved without trying.

“What do you say we dress it up a little?” Yennefer asks his reflection and Jaskier smiles, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

o~O~o

Jaskier guiltily eyes the bags abandoned in front of the closet. Yennefer had dropped him off and collected Ciri for the few hours before dinner, giving Jaskier a much needed, albeit unexpected, rest. Geralt had woken him with the offer of missing Sunday dinner, Jaskier not having meant to sleep for so long was quick out of bed and rummaging through the bags, asking for five minutes and then he’d be ready to go.

Geralt had been waiting downstairs in the kitchen for him, their contributions for that week’s dinner ready and waiting on the island and Jaskier got his second honest reaction of the day. Geralt had taken in the familiar skinny jeans with a soft smile that grew with a raised eyebrow at the black, long sleeve shirt printed with muted pink flowers and green leaves, a soft rose vest over it. 

Jaskier grew nervous when Geralt didn’t say anything, just watched him come down the few remaining steps, meeting him at the bottom where he rested his hands on Jaskier's hips, ducking his head he pressed a kiss that answered all Jaskier’s questions and a few he didn’t even know he had. 

But that had been hours ago and Jaskier knows he should get them detagged and ready to be washed at the very least. With what he hopes to be the last visit to the cardiologist before he’s released to work, he knows he won’t want to spend the day doing laundry to make sure he’s ready for work but curled in Geralt’s arms before the fire, enjoying one last day together to fortify himself against the rest of the week. 

Jaskier knows he _should,_ but he’s tired and just this side of hurting from dinner and though he won’t admit it out loud, the day took more out of him than it should have. A small part of him is disappointed with himself, he used to work all three jobs in one day for days at a time and now he couldn’t even handle a shopping trip and dinner with a nap in between. 

So lost in thought Jaskier doesn’t notice Geralt watching him, concerned as Jaskier normally asked after his day but instead, is unusually silent. Having exchanged his new shirt for one of the worn-soft ones he undoes the button on his jeans, starting when warm, rough hands slide over his naked hips.

Jaskier tenses, expecting Geralt to mock the fake jeans, the male equivalent of jeggings but none comes, instead his hand traces the tender skin that had not long ago been near raw from his jeans with a pleased, “Hmm.”

Jaskier turns in his arms, his hands resettling on his hips, thumbs absently stroking where they rest. “Looks like you found some comfortable clothes.” 

Grinning up at Geralt, proud that he'd finally managed to do what Geralt was always telling him to; be gentle with himself. “I did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many of you had trepidation at the shopping trip and you weren't wrong lol  
> I mean it only took a breakdown in the store but Jaskier has new clothes and a bit of his swagger back. So...yay?
> 
> Also, good or bad news depending on how soon you wanted me to wrap this up. I'm up to 40 (41? definitely starts with a 4) chapters of this written. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! And stay safe. Or not. Your choice.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After surviving and escaping Valdo, lasting long enough to get into recovery and surviving a heart attack, Jaskier was certain the Welcome Desk was going to be the death of him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back lovely readers! I am so very happy you're here! Thank you so much for your comments and kudos, they get me through my days!  
> Big thanks to VeritasRose for betaing!

“They’ll understand if you need to leave early.” Geralt reminds Jaskier, who was too anxious to sit for breakfast and was pacing around the island, rainbow tumbler in hand. 

“But I’ve already missed so much work. And the doctor released me.” Jaskier counters, his cardiologist having signed off on light duty at work for at least the next six weeks, which coincidentally was also the length of his cardiac rehab, two things Jaskier didn’t normally want to think about let alone this morning.

“You,” Geralt pauses, the words catching in his throat. “You had a heart attack Jaskier, they’ll understand if you need a little more time.” 

Jaskier slows to a stop, the island between them and Geralt silently chastises himself for bringing up his illness, as though Jaskier weren’t overly aware of it himself. But panic filled blue eyes turn on him, the tumbler rattling sharply as it meets the countertop. 

“What if they don’t? What if...and I quit Jac’s.” Geralt can see Jaskier’s mind working overtime in its panic, spinning out dark possibilities that Geralt would never let come to pass, that none of the Witchers would. 

Geralt circles around the island counter, resting his hands lightly on Jaskier’s waist and catches his frantic gaze. “They like you there, you’re one of their best workers and they won’t get rid of you because you need a couple extra days. You’re trying, they’ll see that.” Jaskier nods, not fully convinced but the slight shakes wracking his body eases under Geralt’s hands. “Besides, Macee wouldn’t allow it.” Jaskier huffs a laugh, smiling and Geralt’s anxiety eases a little as well.

o~O~o

After surviving and escaping Valdo, lasting long enough to get into recovery and surviving a _heart attack,_ Jaskier was certain the Welcome Desk was going to be the death of him. 

Jaskier wasn’t sure how he was going to make it through this shift much less the many weeks of shifts like this ahead of him. At least when he was on the floor he was moving, roaming around and helping families discover the many secrets the museum held if you only knew where to look. 

“Surprised our littlest Wrangler hasn’t shown up yet.” Macee says by way of greeting, resting folded arms on the counter as she leans next to Jaskier. She’d been making it a point to drop by every hour or two, some excuse in hand should a manager happen by. 

“It’s probably for the best, we’d have to get her a new shirt.” Jaskier’s easy grin tightens, hand subconsciously tugging at his own shirt, stiff in its newness. 

“You say that like she wouldn’t love it and be all over our social media when people find it adorable.” Jaskier smiles but he doesn't feel it, he doesn't want Ciri to see him like this, stuck behind the desk, an ice blue shirt with Keeper in script, stretched over his belly. The one he's certain is only going to grow now that he spends the majority of his day sitting.

“Hey,” Macee’s voice isn’t her usual teasing. “Get out of there, whatever you’re thinking is wrong. Just a few more weeks and you’ll be back on the floor with me.” Jaskier doesn’t get a chance to respond as a family comes up but when he turns back there’s a cosmic brownie in her place, a reminder that he still has a place in her snack pockets. 

o~O~o

Jaskier hates that all he can think about when his shift finally ends is going home and crawling into bed. Geralt should already be at the White Wolf which means there’s no one there to guilt him into eating, he can just shower and lay down and promise himself that he’ll eat later, before Geralt gets home. 

Jaskier is surprised when he gets home to find the truck parked next to Roach in the garage, a flicker of concern that something had happened to Geralt quickens his steps inside. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier barely notes that his voice cracks on his name, hand rubbing at his chest and the phantom pain within. He’s barely made it into the kitchen before Geralt’s appearing in the archway to the living room, concern pulling his features as he scans Jaskier.

“Jaskier are you–” He doesn’t get the chance to finish, Jaskier crashing into him like Ciri does, his fingers digging into Geralt’s back as he reassures himself he’s there and fine. Geralt doesn’t press, just holds him, until Jaskier is shifting back, feeling a little foolish.

“You’re home.” Jaskier aims for casual and falls just short.

“I went in earlier. Why don’t you wash up, dinner is almost ready.” Geralt says slowly, studying Jaskier as though he expects a note to be pinned to him reporting how his day went.

Jaskier tries not to let the disappointment show at the mention of dinner, he _is_ hungry but the prospect of just curling up before the fire with Geralt for the rest of the evening was being interrupted before it had a chance to happen. Heading upstairs Jaskier hopes a shower will reset his mind and reasoning that it’s acceptable to just put pajamas on rather than changing again in a few hours.

Dinner is manageable fare, lightly seasoned shredded chicken, with parmesan noodles and green beans. Jaskier finds he’s still slightly hungry after his usual small portion but doesn’t risk taking more, wanting to hold onto this feeling rather than invite cramping. 

Jaskier leans his hip against the counter as he dries the dishes Geralt washes, hating how tired he is and it’s only his first day back. He _knows_ it will get easier over time, his body just needs time to heal but he’s supposed to be better by now, he _was_ getting better and–

“Jask?” Jaskier hates that he’s the cause of Geralt looking so tired and worn these days and now he’s looking at him with such concern. 

“I’m ok.” Jaskier starts but he knows it’s the wrong thing to say as soon as the words are out, Geralt’s worry tightening at the lie. “Would you...read to me?” 

Worry gives way to relief as Geralt’s eases the towel from his hands, abandoning the dishes still in the sink he threads his fingers through Jaskier’s and pulls him toward the living room. The fire is waiting for them and Geralt takes his usual position at the end of the couch before tucking Jaskier into his side and picking up where they’d left off. 

Geralt reads through several chapters, Jaskier so lost in the rasp of his voice and the lull of the story, calloused fingers absently stroking up and down his arm, that the silence when Geralt stops reading drags for long seconds before Jaskier realizes it’s not a pause in the story, but in life.

Shifting, Jaskier cranes his neck back, peering up at Geralt, wondering if he’s wanting to go to bed as Geralt eases him up with gentle hands, smiling at Jaskier’s sound of protest. “I made you something.” 

“You make me lots of things, dinner being the most recent.” Jaskier notes, Geralt rolling his eyes as he heads for the kitchen, waving Jaskier back down when he moves to follow. 

Anxiety builds in Jaskier, they’d already had dinner and he didn’t _need_ anything else which Geralt knew but he’d also made him something. The thoughts run themselves round and round until the peace that had settled from being in Geralt’s arms is overtaken, Jaskier’s arms wrapped tight about himself by the time Geralt returns.

Geralt’s brow furrows as he takes Jaskier in, setting the bowls on the coffee table he resumes his seat, gently pulling Jaskier’s arms from around him, fighting to keep his features even when he finds Jaskier's tight pinch on his hip. 

“Jaskier?” 

His voice seems to work in pulling Jaskier from the thoughts caging him in, blue eyes settling on him. “It’s ok if you don’t want it,” At the mention Jaskier’s eyes flick to the bowls on the table, seeming to war with what to say his hand twitches in Geralt’s and he knows it would drift back to his hip if he weren’t holding it.

Geralt tries to remember the right phrasing from the research, there was something neutral that could be said to encourage sharing thoughts while letting them know no judgement would be passed. Except too many other half-formed bits come to mind and so he does the only thing he knows won’t hurt worse, gently rubs his thumb in circles on the back of Jaskier’s palm, waiting for him to find his words. 

“I shouldn’t...” Jaskier starts, face still turned towards Geralt but his eyes on the bowls like he expects them to attack him if he looks away. Geralt waits, the only bit of information he recalled that was helpful right now, not that he ever rushed Jaskier to words. 

“I shouldn’t want it but I _do_.” Jaskier whispers as though admitting to something dirty, his eyes darting to Geralt to gauge his reaction, leaning back a little when Geralt gives him the softest smile. 

“It’s ok to want food, Jaskier. That’s good, that’s _really_ good.” Geralt is almost laughing the words and the shame twisting him eases. Geralt takes one of the bowls from the table, handing it to Jaskier who holds it tighter, warmth stealing the cold from his fingers. “You don’t have to eat it all, just...what you want.” 

Geralt settles back, retrieving the book from where he left it, as he opens it back to their page he stretches his arm across the back of the couch, inviting Jaskier to take his usual place tucked against his side. Jaskier’s quick to the comfort, having longed for this very thing all day he’s not going to waste a moment of this night.

Jaskier glances to Geralt and, finding him skimming the page for their place, cradling the bowl close, Jaskier breathes deep, the familiar, sweet scent calming even as it makes his mouth water.

"Bread pudding." Jaskier hums, having known what it was the moment Geralt had drawn close enough for the scent of the spices to reach him, curls of steam rising from it and melting the cream dolloped on top. 

“Bread pudding.” Geralt agrees, amused as he says, “It tastes better than it looks.” Geralt knows it's one of his favorites and will satisfy his sweet tooth. Doesn’t need to mention how it will be easy on his stomach, that he doesn’t need to worry about that at least, because Jaskier already knows, Geralt has always been diligent.

Jaskier narrows his eyes at Geralt’s self-depreciation and takes a purposeful bite to show he has no doubt that it’s as delicious as it always is, helpless to the pleased hum that slips around the spoon.

Geralt’s grin can be heard in the words as he draws Jaskier back into the story and out of his head, his arm drifting down from the back of the couch to pull him closer, fingers absently soothing his abused hip. 

o~O~o

Jaskier couldn’t recall ever hating getting off work on a Friday but tonight was proving to be memorable if for nothing other than earning that honor. The entire drive home he keeps thinking how easy it would be to drive to the White Wolf, to Geralt, but he doesn’t have his guitar and he’s not supposed to be playing yet anyway.

As bad as he wants Geralt the thought of strolling in there sans his guitar and in his tight Keeper shirt is enough to keep Jaskier from taking any of the turns that would lead him towards the bar, instead he heads home and tries to think of anything but the patron who stole the White Wolf’s sanctity. 

Though he’s been doing it most of the week tonight when he walks through the door the house feels emptier somehow, like it knows he’s walked through the wrong door and doesn’t belong here, not tonight when he should be at the White Wolf playing. Unable to stand the silence that echoes back at him Jaskier taps open his music app and sets it to shuffle, just needing something to keep him company. 

There’s a gnawing in his stomach that dissuades him from trying to wait until Geralt gets home to eat, knowing it unlikely he’ll want dinner at two in the morning and will be disappointed that Jaskier waited. No, he would eat as he’d done all week and then do the dishes and...Jaskier wasn’t sure what he’d fill the night with but he had enough steps during which he could figure it out. 

Jaskier scans the fridge shelves, his meals were in containers with red lids while Geralt’s were blue, though he knew Geralt wouldn’t mind if he took one of his, the only difference being the portion within. Plucking one of his containers out, Jaskier sets it on the counter while he retrieves a bowl, eyeing the meager amount of beef vegetable soup within. 

Jaskier knows he should just pour it into the bowl and then into the microwave but he’s _hungry_. His mind supplies what he perceives to be excuses, that he worked a full shift, before which he had cardiac rehab and so it makes sense he’d be hungry. He debates warming just this up and, if he wants more, warming a second container. But he knows he won’t, his mind already set that one portion equals one meal. 

Jaskier drums his fingers on the countertop, glaring at the container as though it’s a scrying bowl and it will tell him what he’s supposed to do. _It’s good to want food._ Geralt’s voice silently encourages him. With unsure movements Jaskier trades his container for one of Geralt’s, repeating his words over and over as he pours the contents into a bowl and places it in the microwave to warm. 

By the time the timer sounds he’s rinsed the tupperware and poured a glass of juice, taking a seat at the table with his dinner, the island feeling too close to its name without Geralt at his side, he opens the note app on his phone and sets to distracting himself. 

Valentine’s Day was quickly approaching and while he was still working on convincing Geralt he would be well enough to play it hadn’t stopped him from working on his setlist. If left to the guys, the bar would look the same as any other night with maybe a drink special to acknowledge the holiday, but under Yennefer and Triss’ hands it would be more inviting for the night. 

Before Jaskier realizes it his spoon scrapes the bottom of the bowl, having finished the stew his stomach feels warm and comfortably full and the guilt he feels eases a little. Geralt had been encouraging him to try eating a little more at meals as he was working back to regular portions slowly. 

The first cramp doesn’t hit him until he’s at the sink washing his bowl, so unexpected and sharp the dish slips from his fingers, the loud crack as it meets the porcelain basin he’s certain it’s broken. Wet hands grip the edge of the sink, careless of the water that drips onto the floor as he fights the rising sick, not wanting Geralt to think he’s adopted a whole other problem. 

Geralt.

His phone is behind him, close enough he could turn and call him, just to hear his voice, his reassurance that he’ll be fine and this will pass. The band around his belly eases enough he can straighten and with only slightly shaking hands shuts the water off, guiltily looking at his few dishes left in the sink but he hurts and just wants to hear Geralt and sit. 

Turning, Jaskier plucks his phone from the counter, swiping it open he easily taps through to calling Geralt, with each ring he arranges what he’ll say, not wanting to be more of a burden while he’s at work when finally the line connects.

“Geralt. I’m fine. I just–”

“You have reached the voice mailbox…” Jaskier doesn’t listen to the rest of the recording, doesn’t need the confirmation that he has Geralt’s phone or the prompt to leave a message as he ends the call and sets the phone back on the counter. Jaskier closes his eyes, taking a deep steadying breath. What was he doing bothering Geralt at work because his stomach hurt? 

With slow steps, as though too sudden a movement would trigger the pain, Jaskier makes his way into the living room, eyeing the couch and the cold fireplace before it. Curling up in Geralt’s blanket before the fire would be wonderful, but he’s still dressed from work and he doesn’t have it in him to start one. 

He takes the stairs slower, feeling like he did those first nights after the heart attack where climbing them left him swaying at the top, Geralt guarding the way back down with his body lest Jaskier’s fail him again. Another pain threatens to bring him to his knees at the top, the railing quietly accepting his white knuckle grip as something sharp twists inside him. 

Thoughts of hot water consume him, hoping it will soothe the cramps and wash the day away Jaskier heads for the bathroom and carefully strips as steam fills space. The water seems to help at first, Jaskier growing brave under the spray is halfway through washing his hair when another cramp hits, this one bringing him to his knees. 

The hurt is there and gone, a white hot twisting under his breast bone, just off to the side; the kind of pain that steals your breath just to see the look on your face before giving it back. Jaskier slowly uncurls, taking measured breaths before using the wall to lean against as he pulls himself back up. 

With silted movements, the slightest twinge stilling him, Jaskier dries and pulls on soft pants and a faded shirt, too fearful of the pain to care it doesn’t quite fit.

o~O~o

Jaskier texted. 

That’s just how they talked when they were apart but Jaskier had called and Geralt hadn’t answered and now _he_ wasn’t answering.

“I’m sure he’s fine, probably just a misdial.” Eskel tries to reassure him but they’ve been friends, brothers, far too long and he can see the lie in Eskel’s eye, the slight twist to his scar as he fights to keep his face passive. 

Geralt doesn’t have to call him on the lie as amber eyes flick over his shoulder, shifting he finds Yennefer, Triss just behind her. “You’ll let us know?” 

Lambert ambles up behind Eskel, scowling. “What the fuck you still doing here.” 

With those words ringing in his ears Geralt is out the back door, swinging his Witcher jacket on as he crosses the parking lot, debating taking the time to call one last time but he knows it’s a foolish hope, one borne of fear rather than sense. Geralt had taken Roach that morning needing the ride in, the control to quiet his mind after Jaskier’s rehab that morning, but tonight he was grateful for the control she afforded him in traffic, slipping down side streets when the main ways were backed up.

Through the trees lining his winding drive Geralt catches glimpses of the dark house, only adding to the fear that had been steadily spreading through him. Geralt doesn’t waste time with the garage door, a spray of gravel tinkling against the door as he skids to a stop, kicking the stand so hard he nearly snaps it off. Yanking off his helmet as he steps into the house, faltering when only silence greets him.

Geralt nearly bellows Jaskier’s name, but the fear he couldn’t answer has it catching in his throat as quick strides carry him from the kitchen and into the shadowed living room, a lamp confirming it’s just as empty as the kitchen. Geralt is halfway up the stairs, taking them two at a time before his mind can deter him with tragic possibilities. 

Unable to wait the few steps it takes to get to the bedroom Geralt slaps the switch at the top of the stairs, flooding the balcony in light, illuminating a huddled figure on the bed beyond, looking so small and fragile though he’s proven himself to be anything but. The entire drive home Geralt had thought he wanted nothing more than to lay eyes on Jaskier, but he can’t bring himself to move from where he stands. Eyes straining to catch the subtle rise and fall that will assure him the last time he touched Jaskier, hours ago, wasn’t going to be the last time he touched him alive. 

Jaskier whines in his sleep, a soft noise, but it’s accompanied by shifting, curling tighter, a motion Geralt’s noticed from when his stomach is hurting. Geralt drops to his knees beside the bed, shaking fingers tracing over the soft curve of Jaskier’s cheek as he struggles to slow his ragged breathing.

“G’alt?” Jaskier slurs, face scrunching in confusion even as he leans into his touch. Bleary blue eyes blink, snapping open when they take in Geralt’s tight features. Jaskier struggles to sit up without poking himself in the eye on Geralt’s hand. “Are you ok? What happened?”

“I missed your call.” Geralt explains, knowing Jaskier is quick to accept undo blame. 

Jaskier's face flickers through several expressions too hard to make out in the dim light, cheeks burning as he says, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to come home...I just–” Jaskier waves away whatever explanation he was going to offer. “What time is it? You need to be getting back. I’m fine.” 

Geralt frowns, Jaskier's voice is tight, the words carefully measured out but he doesn’t press, not now, when all he can think of is climbing into bed with him in his arms. 

“It’s...late.” Geralt wasn’t sure how long it had taken him to get home, he knew that it took forty-seven minutes for him to notice the missed call from Jaskier, another half hour of unanswered texts and phone calls before Eskel had approached him, encouraging him to go. “I’m home for the night.” 

“ _Oh_.” The light from the balcony casts Geralt’s face in perfect light for Jaskier to see the fear etched there, the way his eyes study him, searching for ailments that can’t be seen with the eye but knows lurks close all the same. 

“I’m ok, really.” Jaskier murmurs, cupping Geralt’s face, thumb ghosting over his cheek. Geralt’s sigh curls around Jaskier’s wrist as his eyes drift close, settling into the calloused caress. “You go ahead and shower, I’ll make you some tea.” 

Geralt wants to protest but his resolve is slipping and denying a well established routine would only worry Jaskier more. Turning he presses a kiss to Jaskier’s palm, pushing to his feet he gathers the few things he needs from the room to shower, keeping a subtle eye on Jaskier’s careful movements as he climbs from bed. 

Jaskier flashes him a final smile, Geralt’s certain that’s why Jaskier pauses in the door, looking over his shoulder but the light is behind him, casting his features in shadow. Geralt listens to Jaskier pad down the steps before closing himself in the bathroom. It’s only once he’s under the hot spray does he let his shoulders drop, the scalding water nipping at his swaths of scar tissue as tears track down his face. 

o~O~o

Jaskier is grateful Geralt didn’t fight his suggestion to shower, though the pains had seemed to lessen he also had been still for some time and he wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t movement that triggered them. 

In the absence of the new pains guilt takes its place, twisting inside him as he thinks of Geralt racing home, likely everyone at the bar equally worried all because he had a stomachache and was so childish he called his boyfriend at work. 

The kettle is set to boiling, Geralt’s cup arranged at hand with a sachet of tea waiting more out of habit than Jaskier thinking through the steps, his mind turning over how he’s going to shoulder his latest embarrassment. Jaskier turns, thinking to finish the dishes while he waits, the least he can do lest Geralt find him useless and needy when he spies his phone, forgotten on the counter and blinking. 

Leaning his hip against the island, Jaskier knows it’s only in his head but he would swear it feels somehow heavier in his hand in the moments before he swipes the screen awake and is met with a slew of missed calls and texts. He doesn’t want to look at them, doesn’t want to witness the damage he’s done but it won’t be any easier in the light of day.

It starts with missed calls from Geralt, nearly an hour it seems after he’d placed his own, then a text asking if he was fine, followed by sporadic phone calls that grow until it seems they were placed on top of each other, no time wasted for texts that would only go unanswered.

The sharp whistle of the kettle snaps Jaskier’s head up from where it’d been bent over the phone, jarring him from too dangerous of thoughts for this hour. He promised Geralt tea and it’s the least he can do. 

Exhaustion had taken Jaskier’s distraction with the phone to settle in, his fingers clumsy as they fumble with the stove knobs, forgetting to keep hold of the sachet’s string he burns the tips of his fingers fishing it out. Jaskier heads from the kitchen, mug in hand, double checking the stove is off when he can’t remember if he’d shut the burner off before checking a third time after realizing he’d forgotten his phone; a mistake he wouldn’t be making again anytime soon.

o~O~o

Geralt opens the bathroom door, fear spiking when he finds the bedroom empty, catching himself before he can call for him and instill more guilt than his abrupt and unfounded arrival home has. With a feigned surety that Jaskier meant for him to come downstairs Geralt switches off the bathroom light and pads across the room, listening for any sound of movement downstairs. 

It’s only when Geralt rounds the banister, pulling his gaze from the night beyond the window does he spy Jaskier sitting at the bottom of the stairs, nearly missing the first step himself. “Jaskier?”

At the sound of his name Jaskier cranes around, a sheepish, if tired, smile directed at Geralt as he continues down the stairs. “Sorry, I made your tea. I just...needed a moment, didn’t want to spill it on the way up.” 

Geralt frowns at what Jaskier carefully isn’t saying but he has to trust that if it _were_ serious he would speak up. “Let’s go to bed, Jaskier.” Geralt would like nothing more than to join him on the bottom step, tuck him into his side and finally reassure himself that Jaskier is ok, maybe not fully but not anything that he can’t remedy; Jaskier had called _him_ after all.

But he knew Jaskier’s day had been long, already looking tired after cardiac rehab Geralt had held his tongue on the suggestion of Jaskier taking a few more days, knowing it would be met with argument at best but hurt more likely.

Geralt holds out his hand, intending to pull Jaskier up but instead Jaskier passes him the mug of tea, mistaking Geralt’s frown he stammers, “It’s ok if you don’t want it. I shouldn’t have forced it on you.” 

Geralt is forced to relinquish the mug lest it spill on Jaskier. “I meant to help _you_.” Geralt tries to keep his tone light, encouraging but he fears it falls closer to sharp though Jaskier grins softly and offers up his free hand. Geralt takes it, surprised to find the usually cool fingers warm before his addled mind supplies he’d been holding a mug of tea for who knows how long while he wallowed in self-loathing in the shower. 

Jaskier, standing now, is frowning at him, studying Geralt in a way that makes him feel like Jaskier knows exactly what he’s thinking, a feat his boyfriend has proven to have on more than one occasion. Hoping to distract him Geralt holds out his hand for the tea, taking a sip when Jaskier passes it over.

“Mmm.” Jaskier’s pleased smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes and Geralt resolves to reassure Jaskier tomorrow that it was his own fault and no one else’s that he overreacted and left the bar because he’d missed what appeared to be an accident. 

Jaskier doesn’t protest when Geralt wraps an arm around his waist as they turn and head up the stairs, Jaskier’s steps stilted, taking each step with a caution Geralt doesn’t understand but affords him without question. 

Geralt takes a final drink of his tea before setting it on the nightstand, using it as a means of watching Jaskier slowly lower himself into bed as though the movement pains him, his body tense even after he settles. Careful not to jostle him too much, Geralt lays down on his side, arm stretched in an invitation Jaskier takes, pressing his front into Geralt’s side. 

“Hurting tonight?” Geralt murmurs, concerned at how tight Jaskier’s stomach feels pressed against his side, his suspicion only confirmed when the hand not wrapped around Jaskier comes to rest on his stomach. 

He’s met with silence and Geralt thinks Jaskier doesn’t mean to acknowledge the question, an answer in itself but finally he softly admits, “Yeah.” 

Geralt doesn’t say anything, just pulls him closer into his side, gently rubbing the cramping stomach as he feels Jaskier gradually ease under his touch, breaths evening out as sleep claims him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Many. Things. AND both our boys are struggling.   
> Did I do a bit of self-insert with me poking your feels? "...the kind of pain that steals your breath just to see the look on your face before giving it back." Why yes, yes I did.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boyfriends like their boyfriends in hoodies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back lovely readers! I hope this finds you well and I can't thank you enough for being here and reading this!  
> A huge thank you to VeritasRose for betaing this!  
> There were some serious feels in the last chapter so I thought we might pick up a few hours from where we left off...

Jaskier wakes with the urge to ask if Geralt's angry on his lips, but even his sleep addled mind knows the question would only serve to hurt Geralt more. 

Breaths still shaky, Geralt gathers Jaskier into his arms, hoping to reassure him, needing to hold him as much as Jaskier needs to be held. Growling stomachs finally pull them from bed at an hour that’s closer to lunch than breakfast and Geralt lets Jaskier decide which he’d like.

“Breakfast?” Jaskier offers, trepidation at the memory of the pains from last night returning. Geralt looks concerned but doesn’t question, just heads downstairs to start it while Jaskier takes a shower. 

Geralt is surprised to find dishes in the sink, so unlike Jaskier and even more so to find it’s one of his, Jaskier’s earlier comments making more sense now. Geralt doubted it was the quantity Jaskier ate, he’d been eating a little more at meals, it was more likely the contents. Jaskier’s portions had less meat, especially the soup they’d made as they feared beef might still be rough on his system and last night was a good indication they were right. 

Jaskier slinks into the kitchen, heading for the sink rather than his usual distracting Geralt while he’s cooking. 

“Don’t worry about those.” Geralt doesn’t mean the words to sound like a command but Jaskier jerks to a halt at them all the same, casting guilty looks from the dishes to Geralt. “Breakfast is almost ready.” 

This seems to temper Jaskier who sets about getting juice and refreshing Geralt’s coffee, a drink that’s still too rough on his own stomach. 

Breakfast is a subdued affair, neither quite sure where they stand with the other and both embarrassed by their own actions. It’s as they’re doing the dishes that Geralt notices Jaskier seeming to be anxious, his movements as stiff as the night before but the tightness to his features that betray pain is absent so Geralt doesn’t press, just says, “I can finish up if…” Geralt lets it trail off, knowing Jaskier hates it when it’s directly mentioned.

Jaskier winces but makes no move to leave, just takes the next dish and keeps drying with a quiet, “I’m fine.” 

Geralt just nods, though he continues to keep a careful eye on Jaskier. It takes little encouragement to convince Jaskier to the couch, a fire started easily enough before Geralt joins him, snagging their book from the coffee table. Geralt debates just starting but there are too few hours between now and leaving and he’s never been one to put things off. 

Geralt lets the book fall closed, finger holding their place as he says, “Would you want to come to the Wolf tonight?”

“Oh?” Geralt doesn’t miss the way Jaskier is rigid against him. 

“Not to play, but just to–”

“Oh.” Jaskier’s tone is flat, the bit of hope gone. 

Geralt doesn’t know how to explain, how to not make it worse, or push Jaskier away, so he offers the only thing he does know, how he feels. “It’s not the same without you.” 

Geralt is grateful Jaskier is still tucked against his side and doesn’t see the hurt that flashes across his face at Jaskier’s surprised, “Oh.” He’d grown more vocal the more comfortable he got, though Geralt noticed he still lapsed into silence when things got too heavy and Geralt realizes it’s his own selfish reasons weighing him. 

When it seems like Jaskier doesn’t mean to elaborate, Geralt lets the book fall open, tilting it he scans the page feigning looking for where they’d left off, not yet trusting his voice.

“I’d like to go tonight.” Jaskier starts hesitantly, moving so he can look at Geralt. “If you don’t...mind?” 

Geralt doesn’t know where Jaskier’s sudden doubt of his welcome has come from but Geralt hopes his being there will help assuage it. 

"I never mind you being there." Geralt tells him with a seriousness not usually used in such common questions. Hating that he doesn't understand the anxiety in Jaskier's eyes, Geralt presses a kiss to his forehead, Jaskier sighing at the touch, tucking himself harder into Geralt's side. 

Clinging to Geralt's request to join him at the Wolf, Jaskier tries to get lost in the story.

He loves when Geralt reads and though he doesn’t look it, Geralt loves fantasy novels. Which means Jaskier is usually able to slip into another world if he pays close enough attention, but this afternoon his mind plays out the many ways the night can go instead and none of them end well for him.

Geralt is reluctant to stop reading, wanting to stay with Jaskier just as they are, like it was when those first days home from the hospital; just keeping Jaskier close and cared for. 

When he can put it off no longer, Geralt, already having decided on a smoothie to go and dinner there later, eases Jaskier up, heading for the kitchen while Jaskier heads upstairs to change. 

Standing before their closet Jaskier looks over his clothes though he hadn't gotten a lot with Yennefer there were still a few articles he’d yet to wear. Changing his soft pants for a pair of black stretch jeans he adds a light blue shirt threaded through with black, eyeing the hoodie Yennefer convinced him to get. It’s a deep smoky blue, white spots speckling it to look like stars, the back a soft blue silhouette of a tree with a bird perched in its branches over a guitar, the neck of the guitar running along his spine. 

He loves his rainbow jacket still and then there was the Witcher jacket but he felt awkward wearing it since admitting it was ill fitting to Geralt. Jaskier shakes his head and takes the hoodie off the hanger, pulling it on he smooths it down as he thinks over Yennefer’s words.

 _Boyfriends like their boyfriends in hoodies_. He’d laughed at the phrasing, her words chasing away Valdo’s complaints that hoodies are sloppy and made his belly pooch more. She’d assured him that he not only looked good in it but it was the truth and it seemed tonight he was going to find out; figuring he needs all the help he can get after his behavior last night.

“Jaskier?” Jaskier starts at the sound of his name, not having heard Geralt come up the stairs, but now he’s standing in the door watching him. 

“Sorry. Just...lost in thought.”

Geralt’s concern deepens as he takes in the hand Jaskier is resting on his stomach but he manages to ask, “Ready?” Jaskier nods and follows Geralt downstairs, accepting his tumbler with a murmured thanks. 

Jaskier only notices Roach’s absence when he goes to get in the truck, usually parked on the passenger side, the space is conspicuously empty. 

“Where’s–” Jaskier starts, turning around to look at Geralt only to find he hadn't followed to open his door like usual, but rather walking out the open garage door. Following a few paces behind Jaskier arrives before Geralt can move Roach from where she’s parked in front of the garage door which is unusual in itself but it’s the deep rut in the gravel that draws Jaskier’s attention. 

Geralt casts Jaskier a sheepish look before he walks her past him and into the garage, missing Jaskier closing his eyes and taking a steadying breath to bury his own shame at the panic he’d caused. 

o~O~o

Jaskier knew he’d missed the White Wolf, he just hadn’t realized how much. 

Geralt had reminded him on the way in, then after they arrived Yennefer, Triss and even a casual mention from Eskel, that he could lay down in the office if he needed. Jaskier appreciated their concern though he thought it misplaced, _Geralt_ was the one who needed it. 

Winter had done little to slow business, if anything it encouraged it as tables could hardly be cleaned before someone new was claiming it as their own. Having finished his smoothie shortly after they’d arrived, Yennefer eyeing him as he filled the rinsed tumbler with ice water, he finds himself sitting in his usual seat watching Triss fight to weave her way through tables. The regulars were doing their best to move out of the way but there was no room as people thought to head out this weekend and avoid the holiday rush of the next.

With Eskel busy helping Geralt unload the delayed delivery and Lambert manning the door and trying to keep things approaching civil, Triss is on her own. With tables needing to be bused and orders backing up Jaskier slips into the kitchen and a few inquiries later sees him armed with a tub and rag, busing tables.

Figuring it’s better people think him a busboy, at least it’s a job, then having given up music to become a lush; not a far leap considering his stool haunting tendency and the beginnings of what could be mistaken for a beer belly. 

Jaskier does his best to avoid Yennefer’s watchful gaze without making it obvious, though there’s no help for it when he takes the tub back, only half full but his body demands it be filled no further and while he would normally press just to find the bounds of his limits, he’s caused Geralt enough stress. Jaskier passes without comment, though the critical look Yennefer gives him is more telling than any answers he would give. 

It’s one of the times Triss passes close enough to Jaskier for him to hear her that she says, “Nice hoodie.” Jaskier smiles his thanks and wonders if maybe he should ask her why boyfriends like their boyfriends in hoodies since he’s fairly certain he’s not finding out through experience tonight but it sounds so absurd in his head he can’t imagine asking, especially not tonight where he would have to practically shout the question to be heard over the din.

Jaskier doesn’t know how many tables he’s cleared, convincing Triss to give him empty bottles to lighten her trips when he spots Eskel threading his way along the outskirts, his presence alone working to calm a few of the rowdier tables.

If Eskel is here the late delivery must be finished and before he can think better of it Jaskier is turning, eyes scanning his usual seat, still vacant courtesy of Yennefer, to the wall next to the hall and the wolf leaning there.

The only indication Geralt is watching is the soft smile he gives Jaskier, widening when Jaskier flushes and ducks his head at being caught. 

It had been one thing to bus tables when Geralt was away, but now, under his gaze, Jaskier feels awkward. How must it look that the owner’s boyfriend has been reduced to busing tables. The fear that’s even more of an embarrassment makes him clumsy, the sharp crack of glass meeting glass cutting through the room.

Jaskier chances another glance, certain any minute Geralt will beckon him closer, but Geralt isn’t even watching him, instead his casual scan of the bar leads to him catching Jaskier staring. Jaskier looks to the tub of dishes and then back, eyebrows raised as he hopes his question comes across. Geralt looks to the dish tub then back to Jaskier, nodding what Jaskier hopes to be approval. He’s useful, people like when he’s useful.

Feeling slightly better, Jaskier continues working his way around, letting the rhythm carry him through table after table, new enough it keeps his mind occupied.

“Will you be playing again soon?” The question startles Jaskier, not expecting to be addressed much less about his music. Head snapping up he finds two women about his age, one in black legging that have horizontal slashes laddering her legs, a long sleeve crop sweater showing glimpses of her stomach as she moves, her friend wearing worn skinny jeans, a white shirt and a half-leather jacket standing just behind her. 

“Oh.” Jaskier blanks, surprised.

“Sorry! I mean, we’re glad to hear you were feeling better and didn’t want to bother you but then...well here you are and...just that Marbles song is one of my faves–”

“Seriously. She plays it on repeat.” Her friend cuts in, the first blushing as she jabs an elbow back, hissing, “ _Rose_.”

Jaskier laughs, the feeling that’s been absent for weeks, since the last time he played, courses through him. “Valentine’s night. I hope to be playing that night.” 

“That makes my life easy.” Rose teases, wrapping her arm around the other girl’s waist.

“Like you didn’t already have something planned.” She shakes her head as Rose shrugs but her grin says she _did_ have, now canceled, plans. 

“Yennefer wants to see you when you get a chance.” Triss says, claiming his tub and rag, flashing a smile at Rose and her girlfriend. 

“We won’t keep you.” With a smile and wave they slip back into the crowd. Jaskier makes his way towards the bar, disappointed when Geralt is nowhere in sight, mind turning over the conversation and how Rose and her girlfriend had known he’d been sick.

“Triss said you wanted–” Jaskier starts, standing before his and Geralt’s stools, still miraculously vacant. Before he can finish asking, hands are sliding over his waist and the soft curve of his stomach, slipping easily into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie. “Hmm.” 

Tucking his chin against his shoulder Jaskier catches glimpses of long white hair and a jaw he’s spent more nights than one nipping kisses along. The hands, still in his pocket, lean him back into a familiar broad chest and close enough to kiss. 

Oh.

 _This_ is why boyfriends like their boyfriend in hoodies. Yennefer winks at Jaskier, her smile laughing at the obvious enlightenment on his face and in that moment Jaskier realizes they’re attracting looks; the reclusive, snarly bar owner claiming his boyfriend for everyone to see. 

The anxiety that has been plaguing Jaskier about coming back rears, the urge to pull out of Geralt’s embrace and save him from further disgrace, from having to hear comments about his failings wells within him but Geralt chose this.

“You ok?” Jaskier eases back into Geralt’s embrace at the question, realizing pulling way would be to reject what Geralt wants–and that’s him. 

Geralt _chose_ him.

“Yeah, I’m loved.” Jaskier murmurs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is that the sound of "awes" I hear in the distance? Both for the tender moment and the fact that I managed to end on nearly pure fluff? What does a kilo of pure fluff go for these days? 🧐
> 
> You know I do so love hearing what you think!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier doesn’t have to strain his ears, tonight's comments coming as easily as the hurtful observation weeks ago, his name spreading in a hushed murmur through the crowd as he heads toward the stage. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Greets each of you emphatically*  
> Oh hello! Hello! HELLO!  
> I am so glad you're here. Thank you so much for all your lovely comments and for returning! And now...

“Say it.” Though the words are sighed with exasperation, there’s the hint of fear in the way he stands, as though he’s bracing for insults. Geralt takes Jaskier in, a black, floral button-down tucked into pale rose skinny jeans that match the vest buttoned over his shirt, his carefully chosen outfit for Valentine’s night at the White Wolf. 

Geralt knows he doesn’t possess the words Jaskier does and he certainly doesn't have the ones he needs to describe how good he thinks Jaskier looks. Closing the few steps between them, the vest is soft as Geralt slides his hands over Jaskier’s hips, the silk back of the vest cool under his fingers as he pulls him close, burying his nose in the crook of his boyfriend's neck, “Hmm.” 

Jaskier’s laugh fills his ear, his own arms wrapping around Geralt’s waist, kissing along his jaw as he encourages Geralt’s lips to his own. It’s with reluctance that Jaskier pulls away long minutes later, “We’re going to be late.” 

Geralt looks like he’s very ok with the idea but knows what this means to Jaskier, the nerves and excitement twisting through him have had him moving near nonstop all morning. 

“Tomorrow we’ll have _our_ Valentine’s.” Jaskier reminds Geralt as his hands slip from his waist, freeing him to collect his tumbler from the counter, a fresh smoothie waiting inside, giving Geralt the chance to carry his guitar case, pretending he doesn’t see Jaskier’s eyes narrow at the gesture. 

“Our first.” Geralt acknowledges, confused when panic flickers across Jaskier’s face before he can fully affect a beaming smile.

“It was nice of them to give us the night off.” Geralt arches an eyebrow at the statement. Yennefer, along with Eskel, Triss and Lambert had insisted as one at the previous Sunday dinner that they have the Saturday after Valentine’s off since this year it fell on a Friday. Geralt had leveled a flat look around the table, his...he hated to think of them as employees but in the rare instance such as this, that’s exactly what they were and _they_ were giving _him_ the night off. 

Jaskier waves the words away, mind too scattered with thoughts of the night ahead to argue the finer points of how it all worked out. Though he was reluctant to admit it, he was a little grateful he would play for a night and then have a week before he had to do it again, even as much as he missed playing it felt like the very first time he ever played on a stage all over again. 

o~O~o

“If you’re not up for it…” Geralt doesn’t bother finishing, Jaskier already vehemently shaking his head. Geralt had found him pacing in the office, hand pressed to his stomach and looking like he was going to be sick. 

“Jask.” Geralt steps into his path, steadying hands on his hips, thumbs slipping under the hem of his vest rubbing circles. “You’ve survived worse things.” 

Jaskier claps a hand over his mouth, head ducked and shoulders shaking telling Geralt he’s done more damage, but Jaskier finally looks up, mirth in his eyes as he swipes the tears away. 

“Ciri is right, you’re _terrible_ at reassuring.” Laughter stutters the words though Geralt is just grateful to see Jaskier’s anxiety gone. The giggles taper off, leaving a low thrum of unease but Jaskier feels like he can actually leave the office now and not just to puke in the bathroom. 

“Thank you.” Jaskier seals his gratefulness with a kiss, deepening a little more than they ever have before at work to fortify him for the night ahead.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” Geralt murmurs when they finally pull apart.

With Geralt at his back Jaskier heads down the familiar hall, the bar beyond tinted red from the glass candle holders gracing the tables tonight. Jaskier doesn’t have to strain his ears, tonight's comments coming as easily as the hurtful observation weeks ago, his name spreading in a hushed murmur through the crowd as he heads toward the stage. 

He’d debated starting with an opening rather than launching straight into his set list but other than having no idea what to say without explaining the walking disaster he is, Jaskier realized they probably couldn’t care less. He was there to play music and he knew he could still do that at least, if nothing else.

The opening bars are played, eyes focused on Geralt in his usual place against the wall and it feels like old times, it feels _right._

Eskel and Lambert are in the crowd, both offering smiles when Jaskier’s eyes skim past them, little stones of reassurance to keep him going as he grows bolder with the night stretched before him.

Jaskier shoves the comment from all those weeks ago out of his mind, though it still makes him cringe, the bite was almost completely faded. Geralt loved him and wasn’t ashamed to show it, in front of their family or the bar full of his patrons, regular and new alike. He had fans, maybe only two since he still wasn’t brave enough to look at the social media account Valdo had managed for him, but they were _his_. 

This was all his and Valdo couldn’t take it from him.

With each song Jaskier grows bold and bolder, these were _his_ people and soon he’s back to winking at the audience and drawing them into singing some of the more popular choruses with him.

Far too soon for Jaskier’s liking, he catches Yennefer and Geralt giving him identical expressions that mean his time is winding down. Though he longs to stay and keep playing, toys briefly with the idea of promising to be back after a quick break, his body thinks not. There’s a weariness lingering under the thrill humming through him, energy he knows will flee all too soon and he’d rather not be on stage when that happens.

“Alright, last song of the night goes to a special couple I know. I owe it to her girlfriend for wrecking their plans.” With a smirk and wink to the crowd he starts the opening bars of Marbles, a squeal sounding above the din drawing his attention and he easily spots Rose being shaken by her girlfriend bouncing in place at her side, holding onto her arm. 

Jaskier leaves the stage to a roaring crowd, a small part of him wondering how he can wait a whole week to play again, to reclaim that rush that’d gotten him out of bed after Valdo’s displeasure had him taking to it. 

Jaskier doesn’t make it halfway to the bar before Rose’s girlfriend appears before him, staring wide-eyed at him with the biggest grin, Rose a step behind her, shaking her head at her girl with a soft smile. 

“She’s gone non-verbal. You should be honored, it’s a real feat.” Rose winks at her, dodging an elbow as she laughs.

“I’m sure my boyfriend would say the same about me.” Jaskier rolls his eyes, tone teasing.

“He would.” Jaskier leans back into Geralt as his arm wraps around his waist, glaring up at him in mock affront.

“Geralt, this is Rosie and her girlfriend–I’m sorry dear heart I don’t know your name.” 

The girl blushes harder as she says, “Lorelei. We won’t keep you. I just wanted to thank you and say how amazing you were and that we’re glad you’re feeling better and playing again and...yeah.” Lorelei cuts off quickly. 

“Yeah. Just that.” Rose teases with a slight shake of her head. 

“Thank you.” Jaskier says to Lorelei, wanting to gather her into a hug, try to impress upon her how much he appreciates her enthusiasm and that it was the best thing to end his night with. Instead, he offers her what he hopes is a smile that conveys even a fraction of that before turning to Rose, “And thank you for letting me wreck your plans.” 

Rose nods her thanks and goodbye to Jaskier and Geralt, guiding Lorelei back to their table; her excited whispers to Rose lost to the bar. 

“You’ve got fans.” Geralt murmurs, Jaskier humming his happiness as he turns in Geralt’s arms, “I’ve got fans.” Geralt missed this smile, the one that Jaskier gets when he’s poured his music out, the energy a crowd fills him with, brightening that light inside him. 

“You’ve been missed.” Yennefer says by way of greeting, smiling at Jaskier as he takes his carefully guarded seat, Geralt next to him.

“I’ve missed it.” Jaskier admits, only realizing how good it feels to sit now that he is. Yennefer slides a plate before him, his usual grilled chicken sandwich now served on a buttery bun and accompanied by mashed sweet potatoes drizzled in honey. Before he can finish thanking her and mentally preparing himself to make an honest dent in the food before him she adds a martini glass filled with a deep red liquid, an arrow swizzle stick holding two heart shaped strawberries aloft on the rim, smoke curling from it’s crimson depths.

“I shouldn’t…” Jaskier starts regretfully, fairly certain he can’t handle alcohol just yet.

“It’s virgin, but still tasty.” Yennefer assures and Jaskier smiles, of course Yennefer wouldn’t give him anything that might make him sick. As he reaches for it she warns, “Just wait until it stops smoking.” 

“Of course. What biker bar would be complete without scary drinks on Valentine’s Day.” Jaskier laughs, eyeing the glass with a new interest. Jaskier starts in on his dinner, a hunger gnawing in his belly that’s as welcoming as it is daunting but he knows he should eat this and if needed the office couch will welcome him. 

“If I told you you had a hot body would you hold it against me?” Jaskier chokes on his bite at the look on Geralt’s face at the feminine voice purring the frankly atrocious, though apt, pickup line. Leaning around his boyfriend Jaskier finds Macee grinning like a maniac at Geralt’s baffled expression.

“Oh, the boys are going to be sorry they missed this.” Triss laughs, Geralt fighting to school his features into something closer to resting biker. 

“What are you doing here?” Jaskier asks, swiveling so he’s facing out as Macee moves around Geralt and towards him. 

“You think I would miss your debut night?” She stretches up, a feat made easier by her stiletto heels, wrapping Jaskier in a hug. 

“Besides, I owed her a drink.” Yennefer slides another martini glass across the bar, Macee accepting it with a smile, wisps of white smoke curling around her wrist. 

“You look like you’re breaking hearts.” Jaskier teases her. She’d been saving her latest rockabilly dress find for a special occasion. A fitted black and white polka dot dress peeks out of the underbust red dress jacket cinched at her waist, the rolled up sleeves adding to the look.

“Then we’re quite the pair.” She produces her phone from the folds of her dress, insisting Geralt take a picture of them. “I won’t keep you,” She pointedly looks at his dinner, a silent reminder. “I just wanted to say it was good to hear you playing again.”

Eskel ambles up as Macee turns to leave, his shirt giving her pause. A tight black tee with flowing pink script declaring _Save a Motorcycle, Ride a Witcher._ “What if I don’t have a bike, does the offer still apply?” 

Eskel flushes, Lambert having put him up to wearing the shirt after Yennefer insisted the boys participate in the festiveness of the night. 

“Macee.” Jaskier gently chides, looking at Eskel with concern.

“What, he’s cute.” Macee tells Jaskier over her shoulder before turning back to Eskel. “You can’t blame a girl for trying.” She shrugs and with a tip of her glass in thanks to Yennefer, she works her way back to her table.

“I’m sorry, Eskel. She’s...passionately honest.” Jaskier tries to explain, hoping Eskel understood Macee was genuine if more than a little forward. He nods, glancing in the direction that she’d disappeared but makes no move to follow and Jaskier looks to Geralt who’s studying his friend, seemingly equally lost, but Eskel seems to shake whatever he’s thinking and moves towards one of the tables getting a little rowdy.

Jaskier doesn’t press when Geralt turns back towards him and, seeing his plate still mostly untouched, nudges it towards him, accepting Geralt’s misplaced concern without a word. Dinner is good and Jaskier is surprised, and a little embarrassed, to find it’s not a struggle to finish, his hunger sated leaving only the dull ache he’s come to accept as normal after eating. 

“What happens if I drink it while it’s still smoking?” Jaskier questions Yennefer, the final tendrils of smoke creeping from his glass.

Yennefer eyes the drink with a slight tilt to her head as she states, “It’d kill you.” 

Jaskier knows panic fills his eyes as he waits for her lips to curl into a smile, assuring him she’s just teasing, but they don’t and he mutters, “Of course the biker bar would have deadly drinks on Valentine’s day.” Geralt huffing a laugh beside him does little to reassure Jaskier but he braves a sip anyway and finds it delicious and fruity and sweet and he wants a whole other one before he’s even finished this one. 

Taking his time sipping his drink, Jaskier savors the strawberries that have soaked some of the flavor up, catching glimpses of Rose and Lorelei and Macee among the crowd. Lambert in a shirt that matches Eskel making him look more imposing somehow rather than inviting, though that could be the scowl he’s adopted. 

When Jaskier is helpless to stop the yawns that keep sneaking up on him, Geralt offers him the car keys but Jaskier waves him off, not wanting to leave just yet but knowing much longer and he’ll slip from the stool and not of his own accord. The couch is as inviting as everyone assured him it would be and Jaskier finds the low roar of the bar soothing as he dozes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hushed, but confused murmurings*  
> Or maybe it's awe?  
> Did she do it? Was that truly pure, uncut fluff? 
> 
> Huge thank you to VeritasRose for betaing this monster of a fic!   
> I can't thank you enough for your comments! They have really brightened my week when both works seem to be conspiring to see how hard they have to make me twitch before I start shedding freckles.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s when Jaskier’s hand flutters over the remaining strawberries before it’s carefully tucked back in his lap that Geralt’s stomach sinks, thinking Jaskier was ill, of the mind or body didn’t matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers and welcome back. I hope you all enjoyed that nice, pure fluff...ok that's more ominous than I meant it.  
> (smooth transition here)  
> Huge thank you to VeritasRose for betaing this and to all you lovelies for reading!

For the first time since they’ve moved in together, Jaskier wakes alone in bed. 

He searches the hazy memories of how he got home last night, wondering if he’d said or done something that would make Geralt put him to bed but not join him, though those thoughts are quickly dismissed; surely Geralt would have put him in the spare room. With a sinking feeling Jaskier pushes himself up, Geralt would put _himself_ in the spare room.

Opening the bedroom door Jaskier is met with the sight of Geralt slowly coming into view as he climbs the stairs. “I’m sorry.” 

To his credit, Geralt only jerks slightly at the unexpected sound of Jaskier’s voice, brow furrowing as he continues up the stairs and takes in Jaskier’s fretting demeanor. “Did I wake you?” 

It’s Jaskier’s turn to look confused at Geralt’s statement but it quickly aligns itself when he takes in the tray he’s carrying, two plates laden with breakfast and mugs with steam curling from them. 

“No, I woke and you weren’t there and…” Jaskier shifts where he stands, not wanting to admit he thought Geralt had left him but his boyfriend seems to understand all the same, loving disappointment pulling his features as he herds Jaskier back into the bedroom. 

It takes some rearrangement but soon enough they’re settled back in bed, Jaskier tucked into Geralt’s side, a reassuring arm around him leaving Geralt to balance his plate in his lap but he couldn’t care less. Jaskier hums his surprised pleasure at finding the mug prepared for him to be hot chocolate as he enjoys a lazy Valentine’s morning with his boyfriend. 

o~O~o

Jaskier watches the shadows creep across the yard from his place against Geralt’s side on the couch, trying to cobble together an excuse to go up and arrange his gift to Geralt without concerning Geralt that he was hurting. 

The chapter draws to a close and Jaskier knows he needs to speak now before it gets too late but Geralt begins first, “I have to start dinner.” 

“Oh. Um...” Jaskier knows this is what he needed, but suddenly his mind is blanking on how to excuse himself from helping without sounding rude. 

“If you need to lay down I can wake you when it’s ready, probably be about an hour.” There’s a tinge of worry to Geralt’s voice as he studies Jaskier, turning over what they’d eaten that day that might not be settling well with him.

“I think I was a little too excited from last night to really sleep properly.” Jaskier carefully says, not wanting Geralt to rethink his beginning to play at White Wolf again. “You sure you don’t need help?” 

“No, you rest.” Geralt assures, pressing a parting kiss to Jaskier’s forehead. Jaskier wastes no time padding up the stairs and with a final check over the railing that Geralt is decidedly in the kitchen he slips into the spare room.

He’d planned this out weeks ago, the supplies procured and then stashed in the spare room’s closet so Geralt wouldn’t find them. Gathering the bags Jaskier dashes back into their bedroom and quietly closes the door behind him, listening for Geralt’s footsteps but when none sound he moves to the bed, depositing his bags.

It takes Jaskier the better part of an hour to arrange the room the way he wants, making little adjustments again and again, knowing he’s just fussing at this point but he wants it to be perfect. It’s only when his phone chirps, reminding him his hour is drawing to a close that he finally relents. Standing with his back against the door he surveys his efforts and has no doubt that Geralt will appreciate them, he just hopes he _likes_ them. 

Jaskier gathers up the trash, tucking it back into the bags before stepping to the closet and changing into his Valentine’s dinner outfit. It’s a pair of his new skinny jeans, a black t-shirt and a deep red cardigan threaded through with black. Risking a glance in the mirror, Jaskier reminds himself of Yennefer’s words; that he can leave it unbuttoned and still look good, that he can’t hide his belly but he can frame it so it looks even better. 

Her words bring a shaky smile to his reflection and with a final look around the room he reminds himself of the promise he’d made, today would be a Good day. He’d wanted this for so long he wouldn’t let it be ruined by long scarred wounds inflicted by Valdo.

o~O~o

Geralt gives his arrangement a final once over, knowing he’ll have to swallow the doubts and second-guessing he’s been doing for weeks as it’s too late to change anything but hope now. 

Stepping into the mudroom through the back door, Geralt hangs up his Witcher jacket, the faint scent of bonfire clinging to it and he hopes Jaskier won’t catch it on his clothes before it’s time. In the kitchen Geralt is checking on the pan in the oven when Jaskier’s voice announces his arrival.

“Need any help?” Geralt turns, halfway through a refusal when he gets a look at Jaskier and forgets what he was saying. Jaskier shifts his weight where he stands, obviously unsure about Geralt’s sudden silence.

“You look handsome.” Geralt admits, Jaskier sneaking a bashful look at Geralt from where he’s ducked his head. Geralt was slowly starting to learn this side of Jaskier since he’d gone clothes shopping with Yennefer, that he loved to look sharp no matter how small the occasion. As though the oven knew Geralt’s intent to abandon the food within in favor of showing Jaskier just how handsome he thought he looked the timer sounds, drawing his attention back. 

“Drink?” Jaskier asks, already moving towards the cabinet with the glasses.

“Already on the table.” Geralt notes, carefully carrying the hot casserole dish over. “This is the last thing.” Jaskier takes the hint and claims his seat, surprised to find it arranged as though it were any other night, though he didn’t really take Geralt for the rose petals on the table by candlelight so it shouldn’t come as a surprise.

“Macaroni?” Jaskier notes as he adds a concerningly small scoop to his plate.

Geralt eyes it, trying to tamp down the worry that rises, the fear that Jaskier might be relapsing and he’s missed it for who knows how long, but there’s a smirk gracing his mouth and a raised eyebrow that he forces himself to answer. “With shredded chicken.”

“ _Veggie_ noodle macaroni with _baked_ chicken.” Worry clangs through Geralt as Jaskier distinguishes the small touches Geralt uses, trying to make the meals healthier but still gentle on his tender stomach. 

“Do you–” Geralt starts, mind scrambling ahead to what he could make, what smoothie might entice him and how much protein powder he could add without making him sick.

“Ciri would be _so_ disappointed.” Jaskier’s grin wrinkled his nose as he took a bite, smiling around the fork at Geralt who slumps briefly in his chair, slightly weak with relief. “Geralt?” 

The smile had slipped from Jaskier’s face, his fork joining it on the table as he reached out. “I’m fine.” Geralt knows Jaskier doesn’t buy his answer and so he does as he’s always done, try to distract his fears away. He takes Jaskier’s hand in his own, bringing it up to his lips he brushes a kiss across the knuckles, a new gesture Jaskier isn’t sure what to do with but his cheeks try out blushing.

Though Jaskier still eats a worryingly small amount Geralt turns his mind from it, he ate willingly enough and doesn’t seem to be hurting as they clear the dishes, Geralt forgoing portioning the leftovers out in favor of covering the dish itself and stowing it in the fridge. An action that draws Jaskier’s attention, but he offers no comment.

“I’ll get those tomorrow.” Geralt’s words give Jaskier pause where he stands before the sink filling with soapy water, it was an unusual request in itself, but he would swear Geralt seems almost nervous as he looks past Jaskier to the windows, dusk starting to creep in.

“I…,” There’s no mistaking that Geralt is nervous, something Jaskier’s seen on his boyfriend less than a handful of times. “I have something to show you.” Geralt frowns at his inadequate wording but Jaskier’s smile is kind as he moves towards him, resting his hands lightly on Geralt’s hips, batting his beautiful blue eyes at him.

“Something to show me, huh?” Jaskier’s touch is the reassurance he needs. 

Distracting Jaskier with a kiss Geralt pulls from his grasp, catching his hand he tows him towards the mudroom and through the backdoor, not daring to look back at Jaskier’s expression lest he falter and usher him back inside. 

Geralt had foregone coats, they shouldn't need them though he rethinks this decision a few steps out the backdoor, the cool evening air sending a shiver through Jaskier but Geralt pays it no mind, watching Jaskier as they step out the door, sees the moment his eyes land on his surprise, basked in the ethereal glow of the sun's final rays.

There’s a small fire pit, a blanket spread before it, but Jaskier barely takes them in, his eyes drawn to the door that looks to stand of its own accord, as though Jaskier could stride over, throw it open and step into another place. Soon, Geralt intends that he can.

"What?" Jaskier’s laughs the word, unable to tear his eyes from the door, an amused smile growing as he moves closer. 

When Geralt said he had a surprise for Jaskier he never imagined it would be a beautifully painted door in the middle of his backyard. Swaths of color are painted at an angle across the entire door, the hint of black in the corner growing into a deep purple that lightens into fuchsia before streaking into yellow and fading to a white that picks up with an icy blue, darkening back to the deep purple of its opposite corner. 

It’s only once Jaskier is closer is he able to see the tiny white silhouettes that drift across the spectrum, what he’d mistaken for a smattering of stars turns out to be dandelion wisps. Though he doesn’t know why Geralt is giving him a door painted with a breathtaking mural for Valentine’s Day he doesn’t care, it’s beautiful and it’s from Geralt.

“Jask.” Something in Geralt’s tone draws his attention, his head turning towards Geralt’s voice before he fully tears his eyes away but when he finally does he finds Geralt sitting on the blanket before the bonfire, upheld hand beckoning him to join.  
Jaskier settles on the blanket in the vee of Geralt’s legs, the cool night driven from him by the fire’s warmth.

“Thank you, it’s...beautiful.” Jaskier murmurs, leaning a little to the side so Geralt can better see his smile. Plucking what looks to be a rolled up poster tied with a red ribbon from the blanket beside them, Geralt offers it to Jaskier. 

Jaskier accepts it absently, his eyes drifting back to the door even as he unties the ribbon and works at unrolling the poster, barely giving it a glance he’s turning back but his mind processes what he’d seen and his attention snaps to what he’d mistaken for a poster.

Carefully drawn lines map out what looks to be a small house, just one room with windows and a door but it’s what’s been printed in careful, familiar script in the middle of it: _Dandelion Studio._

“If you don’t–” Geralt starts as Jaskier turns watery blue eyes on him, looking for all the world like he wants to say something but no words will come and so he tries to impress them upon Geralt with a kiss. 

When they finally break apart Jaskier’s found his words, “Thank you, I…” Jaskier swallows thickly and Geralt nods, understanding all the things he doesn’t know how to put into words. 

“I forgot something inside.” Geralt starts to carefully extricate himself from Jaskier who looks slightly alarmed at the thought of _another_ something but Geralt reassures him before crossing the yard back towards the house. 

Geralt returns to find Jaskier bent over the blueprints, gently held open, studying them by the light of the fire, glancing up at the sound of his return, Geralt wishes he could capture this scene, this moment in one of Triss’s photographs. 

Resettling himself behind Jaskier, who is all too happy to press back against him as he says, “I can’t accept this.” There’s such regret in his voice but Geralt had seen the way his eyes had lit up and understands that it’s not that Jaskier doesn’t _want_ it, it’s that he doesn’t feel he should have it, that he deserves it. 

But Geralt knows he does and that’s enough.

“ _I_ want this. I want you to have a space to create your music, a space that’s entirely yours....” Geralt doesn’t know how to phrase the next part without making it sound like he doesn’t view the house as theirs, but as Jaskier residing in _his_.

“But still nearby.” Jaskier finishes for him, flashing Geralt a cheeky grin over his shoulder as he asks, “Promise you’ll come to visit?”

“Every day.” Geralt swears, knowing more likely than not Jaskier would be in his studio, no matter how briefly, each day. 

Offering the container, Jaskier squints in the flickering light trying to understand what he’s seeing, but it’s Geralt and so he plucks one of the strawberries up, taking a bite as his eyes decipher the different symbols denoting the various features but as the flavors burst on his tongue his eyes drift closed and a pleased hum escapes. Geralt buries his grin in the nape of Jaskier’s neck, breathing in the scent that is uniquely him, lest he embarrass his boyfriend. 

“What?” Jaskier asks and Geralt doesn’t want to admit that they’re cheesecake stuffed strawberries, that he thought Jaskier deserved a treat and not to have it tainted, not tonight, so he just says, “Your final surprise.” 

Geralt waits, thinking Jaskier will press or try to pick it apart as he selects another one from the container but Jaskier hesitates for a long moment before he bites it in half, humming his pleasure with a cheeky, close-mouthed smile at Geralt. 

Turning back to the blueprints, they’re quite simple but Geralt wanted Jaskier to feel like he could make any adjustments he wanted and not feel hemmed in by the plans, so basic was a good place to start. “Tell me about...Dandelion Studios.” The name rolls off Jaskier’s tongue with an inflection that’s not quite his own and Geralt wonders if this is how his mother sounded when she called him. 

And so Geralt does. 

How he thought that would be a good spot so that it could look over the in-ground pool that would go in once the weather warmed up but still be close to the house, noting he was free to move it wherever he wanted.

“No, here’s good.” Jaskier is quick to insist. “It would ruin the view from the windows.” A scene Jaskier cherished. Geralt agreed and told him how Triss had painted the door for him, his only request was that it be colorful and have dandelions on it. That he could redraw the studio anyway he wanted, Geralt would build it, it was his to create as he pleased, he only asked that the actual studio be here.

It’s when Jaskier’s hand flutters over the remaining strawberries before it’s carefully tucked back in his lap that Geralt’s stomach sinks, thinking Jaskier was ill, of the mind or body didn’t matter.

“I have yet to give you your Valentine’s.” Jaskier glances over his shoulder, looking almost nervous and Geralt worries he’s somehow made Jaskier feel his gift, whatever it may be, is insignificant in the shadow of building an entire studio for him.

“You didn’t…” Geralt starts but Jaskier is already scrambling to his knees, carefully re-rolling the blueprints.

“I just need a minute, are you good…?” Jaskier, not one to abandon clean up, gestures to the blanket they’re still on and the slowly dying fire pit. 

“I’ve got it.” Geralt assures him and Jaskier leans over, pressing a quick kiss before he’s pushing to his feet, blueprints in his hand as he heads for the house, arms wrapping around himself and shoulders hunching against the cool air. 

o~O~o

Jaskier takes one last look though it looks the same as it did hours before, only now Geralt will see it in moments and Jaskier’s stomach is twisting itself up with the many ways this could go oh so wrong.

Not today, today is a Good day, Jaskier reminds himself, slipping out the bedroom door and pulling it just to close behind him. Heading back downstairs, Jaskier finds Geralt in the kitchen, closing the fridge and turning towards him at the sound of his approach. 

Jaskier holds out his hand for Geralt to take, shoving thoughts of how he used to be smoother at this, he didn’t used to have to plan and reassure himself, he just _did_. But Geralt’s looking at him in the fond way where he tilts his head a little and smiles like Jaskier is the most wonderful thing he’s ever seen and Jaskier thinks maybe he didn’t plan before because they weren’t worth planning for. 

With each step up the stairs Jaskier’s mind plays out how this would have gone years ago, fumbling hands and Geralt against the wall as Jaskier worked to trail kisses down his neck. Geralt’s strong hands under his thighs, encouraging him up until his legs are around his waist, searching mouths reunited as Geralt carries him upstairs, laying him across the bed and admiring his boyfriend. Demanding hands shedding clothes, need overriding the tease of slowly undressing.

Jaskier falters on the top step, Geralt would never have that because Jaskier wasn’t that person anymore, or he was, he just happened to be several sizes larger, large enough Geralt couldn’t carry him up the stairs. 

Geralt’s voice snaps him back, looking at him for a response to a question Jaskier didn’t hear and has no hopes of answering. Jaskier knows he can’t give Geralt that moment, the old him anytime soon, but he can give him this tonight and maybe that will be enough. Jaskier leads Geralt closer to the door, encouraging him to open it and with a final concerned glance at Jaskier, Geralt turns to their bedroom door and pushes it open.

The room is bathed in a warm glow, candles carefully arranged about the room draw Geralt’s attention to the bed, freshly made with unfamiliar sheets. Jaskier slips past him, taking his hands he walks backwards into the room, murmuring, “Happy Valentine’s Day.” 

Geralt tugs Jaskier closer, pressing _You didn’t need to do all this_ into silence with a kiss, they both knew he didn’t _need_ to, it seemed he wanted to and Geralt could appreciate it. Jaskier’s hands work at Geralt’s pants, slipping under his shirt Geralt tenses but doesn’t protest and he makes little work of pulling it off, Geralt’s strong fingers pressing that point at the back of Jaskier’s neck that sends shivers through him, ceasing his own undressing long enough to start on Jaskier.

The sweater and shirt join his own on the floor, soon followed by Jaskier’s pants, worked off his hips as Geralt sucks a hickey into the crook of his neck. Jaskier encourages him back onto the bed and Geralt braces for the prickling discomfort that comes from rough fabrics but the sheets are cool and soft, welcoming him with a lover’s caress. 

Jaskier knows he made the right choice when Geralt’s hands drop from him, the soft _shh-ing_ as they move in small circles next to him over the sheets, a look of wonder on his face as his body relaxes into the bed. Jaskier works at drawing him back, kissing down the hard planes of his stomach, mouthing the bit of softness he finds at his hips, little more than handfuls but Jaskier pays them extra care as nimble fingers work Geralt’s pants off. 

Geralt shivers under Jaskier’s touch, his cool fingers ghosting over his scars like he’s not a mottled mess, as his mouth works elsewhere, always cautious to breathe kisses across the sensitive skin, sucking hickeys in the few places he can find. 

Jaskier could stay like this forever, Geralt at ease before him, mapping the planes of his body, first with his mouth, then with his hands, eyes all but blind in the shadowed room but he wants more, his body _needs_ more and so those same calloused fingers slip under the waistband of Geralt’s boxers.

“ _Julian_.” As though his entirety going rigid wasn’t enough, _that_ name is bitten into the room. 

“Right. Right. Sorry. I–” Jaskier reclaims his hand so fast he elbows himself, dinner threatening to reappear as he realizes his mistake as Geralt scrambles from the bed. 

Jaskier’s heart sinks, he _knew_ Geralt was uncomfortable with his body, he still tensed when Jaskier would slip seeking hands under his shirt. He _knew_ and had pushed anyway. 

Fear drives Geralt from their bed but guilt drops him to his knees before Jaskier. Jaskier who had lurched back with such force he’d nearly fallen off the bed, who was now retreating far inside himself as he believed he’d become Valdo to Geralt, pushing for what he wanted even when he knew better. 

On his knees Geralt tries to catch Jaskier’s eye in the flickering candlelight but they’re bathed in shadows; a careful darkness Jaskier had constructed with care, arranged just so to hide a multitude of perceived shames. 

Before Geralt can start, Jaskier reaches out, catching himself before he touches Geralt, his hands falling to his lap as his pleading, “I’m so sorry,” echoes in the silence. 

Geralt doesn’t know how to fix this, how to give back Jaskier the perfect night he’d so carefully planned, how to fix throwing Jaskier’s unwavering trust that Geralt wouldn’t lead him on only to find him wanting back at him and yet that’s exactly what he’d done because he’s too broken.

“No, Jaskier, I–” Geralt feels the beginnings of a panic attack crawling under his skin, stealing snatches of his breath, hating that he can’t reassure Jaskier with his touch when words fail him but his words are being stolen too so he says the only thing his very soul knows. “I love you.” 

There’s such conviction in Geralt’s words; head bowed and shoulders hunched, a fallen angel before Jaskier. 

“I know.” Jaskier’s words are as gentle as his touch as they tuck Geralt’s shielding hair behind his ear, fingertips trailing down his jaw, tilting his head up. 

“I shouldn’t have pushed.” _When you took such care with me._ Jaskier swallows the rest of the words down, that was his own guilt to carry and bearing it here to ameliorate his own conscience would be selfish. 

But Geralt is shaking his head as though Jaskier had finished aloud and with a shuddering breath Geralt breathes, “I’ve never...I _want_ you.” 

Geralt, having taken the words, leaves Jaskier with actions he’s all too happy to take, to show Geralt what a lover’s care looks like. Jaskier’s hand encourage Geralt up, allowing him no more than gaining his feet before he’s tugging him onto the bed, encouraging him as they were before, with Geralt on his back. 

Jaskier eases Geralt back to where they were, nipping his lip, waiting for them to part in surprise before tasting him. Working his way down his chest, calloused caresses over all the parts Geralt hates are chased with kisses.

“Don’t hide from me.” Jaskier’s gentle command draws Geralt’s eyes back open, flames dance in golden eyes as they settle on depthless blues and the love he finds there settles him, his body relaxing under Jaskier’s. 

This time when Jaskier’s fingers graze Geralt’s boxers Jaskier is turned towards him, no judgement if Geralt can take it no further but he wants this, he wants _Jaskier_ and before he can let himself think of all the ways he shouldn’t of all the ways Jaskier shouldn’t have to touch the ruin of his body, he’s pulling Jaskier up to him. Jaskier wanted _him_ and Jaskier has always been enough, would always be enough and so he chases the doubts away with Jaskier’s gentle touch. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *eyes chapter count* So...how about that glacier pacing?  
> And I feel like I should apologize for not responsibly spending my Fluff. I could have saved some and padded The Moment but...well I didn't mean to ruin their first time with the feels. But accidents happen.
> 
> Thank you for reading and I thoroughly enjoy reading your reactions!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Geralt didn’t have words of his own he knew where to find them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! I can't thank you enough for reading and sharing your thoughts! They brigthen my week so much.  
> And a huge thank you to VeritasRose for betaing!

“Did they personally offend _you_ or is there infighting?” Macee asks so seriously she draws the attention of a passing couple. 

“Definitely infighting.” Jaskier’s mouth quirks at the excuse as he eyes the two baggies propped open before him. Though Jaskier hadn’t explicity told her Macee had it on certain authority that his latest doctor’s appointment hadn’t gone over well.

“Well in that case, do we need to negotiate a trade?” Even though he wasn’t on the floor with her at the moment didn’t mean she didn’t keep her snack pockets stocked with things she knew he liked, but the offer seems to pain him.

“No, I’m...fine with these. Thanks.” Macee nods, hearing the silent _can’t_ traded out. She drifts away before either of them can get in trouble, leaving Jaskier to continue warring with himself, his only reprieve the few visitors who require attention.

“I see the hostage negotiation is going well.” Jaskier’s head snaps up at Macee’s voice, watching as she crosses the break room and drops in the chair next to him.

“Good thing you’re here then.” His smile is true until he looks at all that’s spread before him, oatmeal peanut butter chocolate chip cookies, grapes, string cheese, baked potato chips and a yogurt drink to wash it all down. 

“Ok, did you set this up? Play the whole intimidating biker moonlighting as a doting boyfriend?” Macee asks, tone teasing and Jaskier wishes that he could laugh along but the anxiety and thought of how few hours he has left and how much food he has to fill them have his arms wrapping around his waist as though he can ward it off. 

“J?” Macee’s feet drop to the floor as she rocks forward, a concerned hand rubbing his arm, calling him back. He can see the question she doesn’t dare ask, one of the few things she considers off limits, the fear of inadvertently making things worse weighing her tongue.

“New...food plan courtesy of the good doctor.” Jaskier bites out, understanding in her eyes as she looks at the carefully portioned out snacks set before him.

“So still doting, just _organized_ and doting.” Jaskier huffs a laugh. Leaning back she picks through the bags before ripping a paper towel from the holder and smoothing it before him. In seemingly random quantities she doles out a couple of the cookies, grapes rolling to a stop around them, a stick of cheese and a few chips sprinkled on top are dropped onto the makeshift placemat, before closing each baggy and setting them to the side.

Macee rummages in her own pockets, producing a granola bar dipped in chocolate that she unwraps as she brings her feet back up to the front edge of her chair once more.

“I have some questions for you.” She starts without preamble.

“Oh?” With Macee there’s no telling what question will come out of her mouth.

“Can you play the…” She glances at her phone, “Cabasa?”

Jaskier’s brow furrows. “I don’t even...isn’t that an animal?”

Macee frowns at him, “We’ll take that as a no. How about...the cymbals?”

“With or without rhythm?” Macee rolls her eyes, gesturing towards the paper towel impatient with her phone as she takes a bite of her own snack.

Jaskier dutifully pops a grape in his mouth, chasing it with a chip as she asks, “Accordion?” Her cheek chipmunked with her bite.

Macee works down a list of seemingly random instruments, Jaskier admitting to have at least attempted most before but noting that doesn’t equate to any level of proficiency with them lest she get any ideas.

“Alright, last one, let’s make it good….” Macee murmurs to herself, scrolling on her phone. She meets Jaskier’s eyes, her phone not able to entirely hide her grin as she says, “Ukulele?” 

Jaskier has a suspicion that his answer, honest though it may be, won't end well for him at a future date where he’s sure she’ll request an untimely embarrassing demonstration.

“Yes.” Her Cheshire grin grows and with an efficiency born of economizing limited time she gathers their trash and stashes her phone before Jaskier can finish rising.

With obvious reluctance she passes him the baggies, feeling heavier than she should be able to lift when he accepts them from her.

“Just a few more hours.” She promises, mistaken. And in five words the anxiety she’d borrowed is returned.

o~O~o

Four o’clock comes too soon, the now empty baggies mocking Jaskier from their place in the trash bin. Macee wasn’t off for another hour so he walked to his car alone, for the better, he thought, his steps dragging as he was so tired, though he knew he shouldn't be as he’d done little more than exist at the desk.

The thought taunts him on the drive home where he knows Geralt will be waiting for him with a dinner he made and expects Jaskier to eat. 

Jaskier can’t bring himself to get out of his car once he’s home, sitting long enough that he draws Geralt to the sunroom door, sending him scrambling out before Geralt can step from the house. 

“I’m fine” Jaskier snaps before Geralt can even ask, cringing at the undeserved sharp tone. I”m sorry, I’m just tired.” 

Geralt gathers him into his arms, swaying him slightly, the motion comforting. Jaskier finally brings his arms up, returning Geralt’s embrace, face buried in his chest and words muffled as he says, “And that’s no excuse. I’m sorry.” 

Geralt just hums, swaying him a few minutes longer before he eases Jaskier back. “Why don’t you go take a shower?”

Jaskier _knows_ the offer is meant to be kind, Geralt well aware of Jaskier’s penchant for long, hot showers with divine oils. He _knows_ this but still he bristles, tongue burning as he bites back, _Not like I need it. All I did was sit and eat all day._

Geralt is giving him a look that makes Jaskier briefly believe he voiced his thoughts, but when no words of argument follows Jaskier realizes he’s just managed to up Geralt’s concern for him another notch, as though he wasn’t already worn down enough caring and worrying about him.

“A shower would be good.” Jaskier murmurs, easing from Geralt’s grasp he heads through the house and up to the bathroom where he huddles under the scalding spray, drowning his tears and whimpers. 

o~O~o

The smell of dinner greets Jaskier on the stairs, stomach a twisted blend of hunger and shame as he pads into the kitchen, dinner having to be kept warm due to his breakdown on the shower floor. “Sorry.”

Geralt frowns at his apology, or maybe the way he’s already dressed in soft pants and an old shirt. Either way, Jaskier doesn’t linger to decide which way he’s disappointed Geralt this time, instead he slinks to the table, the weight of Geralt’s eyes on him driving the words from his mouth. “I ate all the snacks you made me.” 

“That’s good, Jaskier.” Geralt says as though it _is_ , like it makes up for his rude behavior upon coming home and now his gratefulness for a dinner he had no hand in making.

“Macee...helped. She quizzed me on what instruments I know how to play.” Jaskier squints at Geralt’s reflection in the window, trying to gauge his reaction. 

“Trying to make sure you’ll have enough space in your studio for all of them?” Geralt’s reflection asks.

“No.” Jaskier barks, twisting in his chair so he’s facing his Geralt. “ _No_. I think she was just…” Jaskier shrugs, unable to voice what they both knew: That on rougher days Jaskier still relied on distractions to be able to eat. 

Geralt nods in understanding and Jaskier realizes Geralt had probably been joking. Probably. 

Jaskier starts to reassure Geralt that the studio is perfect, that really he doesn’t even have to build it, the thought is enough, but Jaskier knows that not only is he too late as Geralt’s already had the foundation put in, it would only be to comfort himself.

The plate set before him is empty, save for a burger, the top sitting next to it should Jaskier wish to add condiments. The sight is meant to entice Jaskier, one of the foods he used to like modified to be easy on his still tender gut.

Jaskier has no doubt the veggie burger will be delicious, certain Geralt has made them from scratch rather than buying premade ones from the store. Knowledge that only curdles Jaskier’s appetite further. Geralt had taken to working split shifts on Bad Days specifically so he could not only make Jaskier dinner but have it with him so it would be easier. 

Jaskier’s thanks comes out little more than a whisper, one he’s not sure Geralt even hears as he’s already turning away, Jaskier watching as reflection Geralt dons oven mitts and pulls a tray from the oven, resting it on the counter as he wields a spatula. 

Geralt takes his seat at the table as Jaskier is arguing the merits of BBQ sauce with himself, having the unfortunate knowledge of knowing just how many empty calories are hidden in condiments thanks to Valdo. Geralt offers Jaskier a set of tongs, the bowl of baked sweet potato fries between them. 

With reluctance Jaskier adds a helping to his plate, now looking closer to a fullness he knows will soon be inside him, the thought nearly dropping the tongs from his grip. Geralt doesn’t comment, just eases them from Jaskier, knowing it’s better not to push the struggle he’s fighting early on.

“There’s ketchup too if you’d rather.” Geralt offers, starting to rise.

“ _No_. I’m...it’s fine. I like it...plain.” Geralt sits back down, studying Jaskier in a way that tells him Geralt _understands_ a little too well.

“It’s ok, if it will make it taste better you should have it.” Geralt says softly, wondering not for the first time if Jaskier preferred cheeseburgers but like his salads saw any addition as a luxury he shouldn’t allow himself. 

Jaskier just nods but makes no move to dress up his dinner, instead he asks Geralt about how his day was. “Fine. Got the order placed for the lumber, should have it here within the week and with any luck we’ll get the frame up and roof on before the spring rains set in.” 

Jaskier nods along, fighting to swallow the bite of burger down, knowing it’s not as tasteless as his mind tells him it is. 

“Will...um...will Lambert or Eskel...help you?” Jaskier plucks a fry out of the pile, hating that he won’t be able to help Geralt build the studio, knowing any attempt could very well see him hospitalized. The first time he’d made the mistake of offering his help, unskilled though it may be, anger had flashed in Geralt’s eyes, Jaskier knew it stemmed from fear, Geralt had carefully explained, _pleaded_ that Jaskier not do something so foolish, but it had still stung all the same. Another way he was useless, this time made so by his own hand. 

“I should be able to get the frame up for the walls but they said they’d help get the roof truss up if I need it.” Geralt promises, not wanting to add any more stress to Jaskier. 

“Good. I’m sure Macee will want to come over and watch.” The joke is weak but it gets Geralt to smile and for the briefest of moments Jaskier forgets about dinner. 

“Jask?” There’s such concern in Geralt’s voice, his hand gentle on his wrist as it pulls it down from where Jaskier had been nibbling at a fry. It’s only Geralt’s fingers, calluses slick on his skin, that make Jaskier realize he’s crying, silent tears tracking down his face. 

Turning to Geralt he finds the silent permission he seeks, dropping the fry back to his plate he wraps his arms around his aching stomach, unable to tell if it’s just in his mind or if he truly hurts. 

“I can’t. I’m sorry, I know you made this for me and I’m sure it tastes good and I shouldn’t be wasteful and–” 

“It’s ok. It’s _ok_.” Geralt cuts him off, his tone soft but commanding. “If you want something else–” Geralt gets no further, Jaskier shaking his head, arms tightening as though the very thought upsets him worse. 

“No, it’s fine. I...I _asked_ for it, I just...I _ate_ today, _so_ much and I don’t...I can’t.” Jaskier clenches his arms tighter, hating the way they give under his fingers, once lean now soft, like the rest of him. He won’t throw a tantrum like a child, won’t shove the plate away and storm upstairs to cower in their bed. He won’t; but he sure as hell wants to.

Geralt wants desperately to tell Jaskier he doesn’t have to eat, that the few bites of burger and fries he managed will be enough, that he tried, but only the latter is true. 

“I don’t...I weigh _more_ now. Why isn’t it enough? Why...I _ate_ today, all the snacks you gave me. Why isn’t that enough?” Jaskier knows he sounds petulant, that he’s repeating himself and whining through dinner is probably making Geralt wish he hadn’t come home, had just left him to fend for himself like any capable adult should be able to do.

“I’m sorry. Your body just needs more to,” Geralt falters, Jaskier had barely kept it together until they reached the truck after the doctor’s visit. “Your body is healing and that takes more energy. It’s not forever, just for a little while.” Geralt clenches his teeth against the offer of a smoothie, knowing Jaskier needed more real food, that this campaign of getting him interested in food again would only work if he stuck with it, if he were strong enough for both of them.

“I’m sorry.” Jaskier apologizes to his plate, taking a shuddering breath before he looks at Geralt. “I…” Too many failings crowd his mouth, tangling with one another until none can be offered. 

Geralt rises, leaving his plate where it sits, Jaskier watches his reflection move through the kitchen and out into the living room, the dinner in his stomach growing heavier with each shortened breath. Of course he would leave, not only had Jaskier driven him from his own table, but he couldn’t stand to finish his own dinner.

Jaskier doesn’t see Geralt’s reflection reappear, barely registers his approaching footsteps but through his tears he sees Geralt reclaim his seat. Reaching out, Geralt eases Jaskier’s arm from about his waist, threading their fingers he rests them on his knee below the table, flipping open their book with the other he begins reading where they left off. When Geralt didn’t have words of his own he knew where to find them. 

Though it takes several paragraphs, during which Jaskier gets little more than a single fry down, the story does manage to draw him in, Geralt’s thumb absently rubbing the back of his palm a calming presence.

It takes longer than it should, dinner creeping past the time Geralt should be leaving to head back to the bar, knowing he’ll need to answer the concerned texts soon before one of them drives over and upset Jaskier further. 

“I can’t.” Jaskier nudges his plate away, free hand pressed to his stomach and mouth a flat line as he takes slow breaths through his nose. There’s a fourth of the burger left and a few fries but it’s clear Jaskier has reached his limit, having pushed past the mental one, this is all physical, and one Geralt will never encourage him past. 

Without a word Geralt gathers their plates and deposits them by the sink, giving Jaskier what he hopes is a few moments to gather himself as he pulls his phone from his pocket and sends a message to Eskel that he won’t be returning tonight with an assurance things are well. 

“Bed or couch?” Geralt’s question opens Jaskier’s eyes, his reflection standing behind him, waiting to escort him to the destination of his choosing. 

“Bed.” The couch doesn’t feel the same without Geralt there to hold him before the fire and he knows if he chose there, Geralt would feel compelled to stay and Jaskier has already caused enough damage to his day. 

Geralt pulls him from the chair, dropping his hand only to press it into the small of his back, soothing the knotted muscles there as he follows Jaskier upstairs. Stepping into the bathroom, Jaskier performs an abbreviated rendition of his evening routine, the need to lay down clipping his movements. 

Stepping into their bedroom Jaskier is surprised to find Geralt in just a pair of boxers, upraised hand drawing him to bed. 

“Don’t you have to go back to the bar?” Jaskier asks because he knows he _should_ not because he wants the answer, the one he knows deep down that hurts to acknowledge.

“Contrary to what I tell myself they _can,_ and do, run it without me." Geralt tells him, pushing the back of Jaskier’s shirt up so his bare back is pressed against his front.

“Thank you...for tonight.” Geralt presses a kiss to the spot he loves so much, the one where Jaskier’s shoulder curves into his neck. 

“I’m proud of you Jaskier, you fought hard today.” Jaskier nods, trying to accept the words for the praise they’re meant to be, for the accomplishment they recognize, even though it doesn’t feel like much of one. 

Geralt slips a hand under Jaskier’s shirt resting it on his cramping belly; Jaskier sighs at the touch, his boyfriend's unnatural warmth soothing. And for the first time all day Jaskier feels at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...I don't even know where this goes on the flangst spectrum. It's like I'm playing Pin the Flangst on the Feel. but I _think_ I tried to fix it there at the end. Maybe?


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt asks the question to his clasped hands, hanging between his knees as though in prayer to a god who only listens long enough to twist the plea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back lovely readers! Did you all have fun taking a turn pinning the flangst on the feel?  
> I can't thank you enough for being here reading and another thanks for the wonderful comments, I do so love reading your reactions.  
> And this wouldn't be what it is without the wonderful VeritasRose keeping things sharp!

“I liked it better when you had cookies.” Macee says by way of greeting, hopping backwards onto the front desk she joins Jaskier in scowling at Geralt’s latest attempt at enticing him with new options, an endeavor Jaskier appreciates but isn’t sure about.

“I liked it better when I had cookies too.” Jaskier admits before he can catch himself. His hand drifts down, tugging at the hem of his shirt, he’d already requested new larger Wrangler shirts but the fear even they might not fit wasn’t helping things. 

Macee’s hand tugs his away, “Wanna share those thoughts with the rest of the class?” 

“Who said I _didn’t_ have any?” Jaskier’s cheeky smile is greeted by Macee’s disappointed concern as he pulls away to dig in his satchel, offering up the extra baggie of cookies Geralt had specifically included for her.

Macee accepts the baggie with a look that makes Jaskier shift, the one of hers that says she knows all too well what he’s thinking. She offers the baggie to him and though Jaskier would like to rise to the challenge he pointedly plucks a pita chip from the pile before dragging it through hummus.

Macee winces in sympathy. “I’m sure it’s good. He’s like the Paula Stewart of bikers.” Jaskier chokes on his snack, clapping a hand over his mouth before he sprays crackers across the counter. With a wink and a pocketful of cookies Macee hops off the desk and heads off.

With the weather creeping closer to warm and further from rainy more and more kids were coming into the museum which meant Jaskier found himself with an increasing number of frantic parents who believed they’d lost their child’s to the depths of the museum forever. In reality the child, who never realized they were missing in the first place, was quickly located and reunited with their panicked parent. 

This provided Jaskier with a feasible excuse for not sticking to the snack regimen Geralt had helped him outline so that he wouldn’t feel so overwhelmed by entire baggies if he knew he broke it down into smaller increments. Jaskier knew it was delaying a problem but it was just too easy and it truly wasn’t appropriate to be munching while a parent was concerned about their missing progeny regardless of health concerns. 

“Ready to make museum history?” Macee’s grin doesn’t make Jaskier half as nervous as the way she keeps her hands behind her back. 

“Not again. Not after–”

“Hope you’re not too rusty.” Macee says, presenting Jaskier with a ukulele. 

“What?” Jaskier asks even as he takes it, eyes tracing the curves. 

“I convinced the Powers That Be. You know how to play and what better way to start a visit to our fine establishment?” Jaskier raises an eyebrow at this sudden PR nightmare turned dream.

Macee bats his skepticism out of the air. “I had a momentary lapse. Now c’mon.” 

Memorable was right, it had been years since Jaskier played and contrary to popular belief there _was_ a learning curve between the two. 

Macee lingers, happily munching cookies she produces from her pocket as Jaskier strums, testing a few bars, growing bolder as his fingers remember.

o~O~o

“Did you bring pictures?” Triss asks, barely waiting for Jaskier to make it through the door, Geralt just behind him. 

“It’s little more than a foundation.” Lambert grumbles from where he's helping Eskel arrange the tables. Triss shoots him an annoyed look before turning back to Jaskier who is sheepishly holding his phone.

“ _I_ want to see pictures of the foundation.” Triss remarks, making sure Lambert hears the sarcasm as she moves closer to Jaskier. Geralt ducks his smile into the kitchen, it had only been two weeks since Geralt had given him the plans but you’d thought he’d given Jaskier the entire studio the way he beamed over the special foundation going in. 

Though Lambert was right and it was little more than posts in the ground with a base, the others had drifted over by the time Geralt reappears, Eskel and Yennefer flanking Ciri who is standing on a chair to better see the phone, asking question after question, the perfect audience for Jaskier’s enthusiasm. 

“Have you decided on an inside color yet?” Jaskier asks her as Eskel guards her jump to the floor, turning his cautionary hand hold into a ballerina spin that sets Ciri giggling.

“Mmm...chalkboard!” Ciri had been disappointed to learn that the outside would be white, remaining skeptical even when Jaskier showed her the beautiful door and explained you used a simple color like white to show off something, like the colorful door. 

“Chalkboard? That isn’t a color.” Jaskier laughs, not outright dismissing the idea. 

“One of her friends has a wall in their room painted with chalkboard paint…” Yennefer shrugs, everyone else able to fill in the rest. What kid _didn’t_ like the idea of being able to draw directly onto the wall and then wipe it clean and not get in trouble.

“You _may_ be onto something.” Jaskier tells Ciri, imagining them in the studio before a wall specially painted, drawing out bars of music and its bits of lyrics. 

“I stills get to help you paints.” Ciri nods as she says the words, less question than a reminder to Jaskier of what he’d promised. 

“You’re just the girl for the job.” He assures her, setting her giggling as Yennefer guides her towards the counter and the many toppings set out. Tonight was make your own pizza night, something Jaskier should be looking forward to since they specifically let him pick, but now, forced to not only assemble his dinner before others but _more_. 

Any hope Jaskier had that he was being casual in his unease is dashed when Geralt meanders to the back of the line with him, wrapping his arms about his boyfriend’s waist he whispers, “It’s ok, Jask. We just want you healthy.” 

Jaskier knows Geralt feels his stuttered breath, his nod jerky as he reluctantly steps from his arms and picks up a plate, adding a piece of naan bread and fighting the urge to continue onto sauce. He knows he’s supposed to add a second, that Geralt had been making whatever he wanted, whatever sounded _good_ no matter if that was tacos for breakfast or waffles and bread pudding for dinner. Little reminders meant to trick Jaskier’s brain into believing food wasn’t work, it was meant to be enjoyed. 

Geralt doesn’t say anything about his hesitation, nor does he comment on the second one Jaskier had taken before even starting on his first and somehow that’s worse. It’s expected he need to eat so much, would fit more if he could on his plate–

Jaskier shakes his head as though he can dislodge the thoughts. He’d been doing so good since that night with Geralt when he’d broken down at the dinner table, there had been a few rough days but this week he’d managed to stick to the new meal plan. With a realigning breath Jaskier mentally approaches dinner again.

Recognizing the thoughts weren’t helpful was the first step, the second was harder, acting against whatever they suggested to be true and right now that meant finishing making his _two_ personal pizzas. 

With surprisingly steady hands Jaskier adds the smallest bit of sauce, not wanting to hurt more than he’s sure he’s going to, a sprinkle of cheese and though he wants to stop there he adds some of the finely shredded chicken he knows has been prepared just for him. 

With an appraising look at his dinner Jaskier carries his plate into the kitchen, carefully transferring them over to the cookie sheet Eskel passes him.

“Ever had BBQ chicken pizza?” Eskel asks, eyeing Jaskier’s topping choice.

“No. That’s a thing?” Jaskier glances at Eskel’s four pizzas covered in vegetables with a sprinkling of pepperoni and sausage. 

“Yeah. BBQ as the sauce and then chicken and cheese.” Jaskier sees the moment Eskel catches his words and Jaskier hates that he inflicts this doubt on people. 

“Next time. We’ll be prepared and you can introduce...well pizza feels like a loose term for that.” Jaskier laughs, trying to draw Eskel in.

“You corrupting him with your bastard food?” Lambert asks, ambling over, Triss calling language behind him. “At least Geralt knows how to eat.” 

Geralt pauses in moving his own creations to a cookie sheet, four breads piled with veggies and meat alike, shifting as he shoots a glance at Jaskier. “I don’t know about that.” 

“I mean, black olives. Have you no taste sir?” Jaskier starts as Geralt puts more concentration than necessary into moving the remaining two pizzas. Jaskier’s teasing tone encourages Geralt to chance a look, Jaskier smiling and nose wrinkled as he nudges one of the olives that had rolled free.

“Hmm.” Geralt says, pointedly carrying the laden tray over to the oven.

Jaskier was pleasantly surprised to find the chicken wasn’t as bad as he’d expected and he finds himself actually hoping Eskel remembers to introduce him to BBQ chicken pizza. 

“Pama, these is much better than lunchables.” Ciri announces, waving one of the slices Yennefer had cut hers into for emphasis. 

Geralt looks pained at the words as he looks to Yennefer who raises her hands to ward him off. “She picks out her lunches, there’s a reason those things are so popular and it isn’t the taste.” 

They can all see Geralt turning the idea over in his head, looking for a feasible way Ciri can have Pama level lunchables.

“Nuh-uh. I know that look. There are too many years of brown bagging it left.” Yennefer tries to deter him followed by a long pause as Geralt thinks it over before relenting, though he doesn’t look happy about it. 

Talk turns to plans for St. Patrick’s day and the larger rowdier crowd it would draw. “Were you able to get off for the Patty’s Parade?” Yennefer asks, turning the conversation to Jaskier.

“Yeah. They let me switch. Good cause and all.” Their expressions confirm Jaskier’s fears that his enthusiasm rings as false as he feels. 

“You have your costumes all ready to go?” Triss tries drawing the attention from him, the guys grumbling as she and Yennefer tease them about dressing as leprechauns. 

Jaskier tries to laugh along but his stomach is twisting, the closest they came to costumes were their Witchers jackets. The jacket that barely fit him when he got it months ago now had no hope of zipping over his belly. 

Jaskier returns the piece of pizza he was eating to his plate, hunger and will crumbling under the thought of having to admit that he’d grown too fat for it or don it and bring disgrace to the group. Jaskier absently scoots his plate towards Geralt, the action so common he doesn’t realize he’s done it until Geralt stacks it on his empty one, easily finishing the few slices as talk of the parade continues.

Ciri squirming in her chair towards the end of dinner draws Jaskier’s attention and he catches her shooting him looks, gnawing on her lips like she wants to ask him something but is waiting to be addressed first. 

“Who put the jitter in your bug?” Jaskier asks, making her giggle. 

When she finally calms enough to speak she leans over, her small hand patting the curve of his belly as she asks, “All better now, right? Wish worked?” 

Though her question is soft, it draws most of the table’s attention. There’s such hope in her voice, complete faith that her birthday wish could mend what was broken in him that Jaskier doesn’t have the heart to tell her that he’s damaged beyond birthday wish magic. 

“Yeah, sweetie, it sure did.” Ciri cheers and launches herself at Jaskier who returns her hug, keeping her from crashing to the floor. Jaskier closes his eyes on the tender smiles directed at them, fighting down the tears of shame that claw up his throat and misses as they turn concerned eyes to Geralt. 

As quick as she was into his arms she's scrambling back, announcing “I made brownies!” 

Ciri, already headed to retrieve said brownies, misses the grimace that flashes across Jaskier’s face. He feels Geralt’s hand on his arm, knows what his boyfriend would say if only he would turn and look but this was Ciri’s wish and he wouldn’t take that magic from her. 

Shaking off Geralt’s arm he rises and starts collecting plates, spurring Eskel to start doing the same as Triss and Yennefer scramble to gather glasses. Soon enough plates are traded for napkins and short glasses filled with milk as Ciri shows off her carefully crafted brownies.

Not to be outdone she’s added a layer of frosting and nonpareils, inspired by the cosmic brownies she sometimes gets to take in her lunch. It’s clear Ciri had the honors of cutting them, the lines wiggly more often than straight, some brownies the span of a hand while others are little more than a few bites.

By some grace Yennefer is the one to dole them out and the brownie placed before Jaskier is relatively small, though the knowledge does little to help the pizza sitting heavy inside him.

Jaskier feels Geralt looking at him, trying to catch his eye to reassure him he doesn’t have to eat it, doesn’t have to _finish_ it but Ciri is so happy and so the others watch him choke down each bite through stilted conversation. Jaskier forgoes the milk before him, taking sips of what’s left of his ice water in hopes of soothing his aching stomach, the sweetness too much on top of his shame. 

No one lingers tonight, tables are being shifted back into place while final bites are still being chewed, Jaskier not comprehending any of the conversation being carried on around him as he carefully prepares two naan breads for Betty. 

“You know what toppings she wants or should we bag her up some of each?” Triss asks, her words hanging between them, threatening to go unanswered.

“She swears up and down by supreme. Who would have guessed?” There’s a touch of smile to the words as he carefully fills each bread with just the right amount of toppings. Jaskier takes them to the back, intending to warm them before packing them up for Betty. 

Yennefer watches Jaskier’s retreating form, waiting until the door to the kitchen stops swinging before she’s at Geralt’s side. “Bad Day?” 

Geralt doesn’t have to follow Yennefer’s gaze to know what she’s referring to, he hadn’t missed the concerned looks Jaskier had been getting. He weighs his words, knowing they care and worry and that if asked, Jaskier would explain but they didn’t ask Jaskier for fear of making it worse, they asked _him_.

“He’s not taking in enough calories each day to sustain himself _and_ repair the damage.” Geralt explains, relieved at the understanding on Yennefer’s face. They had all read the research, sent each other articles and understandings, each wanting to be there for Jaskier as much as they could.

“And on top of already hurting and the phantom fullness he’s now _actually_ full.” Yennefer murmurs, more to herself than needing actual confirmation but Geralt hums his agreement anyway. “More calories, more food…” Yennefer trails off, the night making a bit more sense.

“Ciri was really hoping he’d eat one of her brownies but I don’t know what she said that upset him so.” Yennefer looks to Geralt but he just shakes his head. The conspiratorial whispers of seven year olds was still something that needed working on so he’d only caught snippets that didn’t make sense, but it was between them and with a sinking feeling Geralt accepts what he’s been trying to avoid; Ciri would never _intentionally_ say something to upset Jaskier but his mind was a minefield these days, what had been a safe step mere hours before could now be loaded.

Yennefer has the good sense not to be next to Geralt when Jaskier appears from the back carrying Betty’s to-go container. With a round of goodbyes Geralt helps Jaskier into his rainbow jacket before shrugging on his own leathers and heading out to the truck.

The drive to Betty’s is tense, Jaskier unnaturally silent, Geralt having to be the one to start music where usually Jaskier is queuing up songs he wants Geralt to hear, pausing only when he’s reminded seatbelt and _then_ music. Their hands are tangled on the seat between them and Geralt tries to cling to this as a good sign, though his mind knows this ploy too well, the reassurance growing more hollow with each passing mile. 

Betty opening the door is like flipping a switch on Jaskier as his smile seems easy and the words that had been missing from him all night suddenly seem to have been found. “The flowers are looking lovely. Going to have to get you entered in the fair.” Jaskier says by way of greeting.

“If I didn’t know better I’d think you were up to something.” Betty tells him, easily evading the container he offers in favor of pulling him in for a hug before turning and doing the same to Geralt. “So, tell me what’s new.” 

It’s a ritual of theirs, though he tries to get together with her at least once a month, twice if they can make it work, they try to keep each other apprised of the happensing lest they be forgotten by the time the monthly gathering happens. Jaskier tells her of the ukulele Macee procured for him and how visitors are as equally amused as they are confused when they enter to find him happily singing away at the front desk. 

She reminds him to find her in the parade, she’ll be with her grandchildren who don’t believe their grandma is cool enough to know a musician, let alone one who will be _in_ the parade.

“We’ll just have to show them then, won’t we?” Jaskier promises and with a final round of hugs and goodbyes Geralt and Jaskier slip back into the night once more, this time bound for home. Any hopes Geralt had that seeing Betty had cheered Jaskier up are dashed as soon as they get home.

“I’m gonna,” Jaskier lingers in the kitchen, looking nervous. “Go to bed." The whispered words are accompanied by a measuring glance at Geralt.

“Can I get you anything? Tea? Hot water bottle?” Jaskier shakes his head, refusing comforts he doesn’t believe he deserves. As though Geralt can read his thoughts he catches Jaskier’s hand, a gentle urging to turn around, pressing a kiss to his forehead when he does and with a small smile Jaskier retreats upstairs.

Jaskier eyes the shower, wondering how much worry he’ll cause if he takes what will be his second one of the day. He doesn't really need it but the thought of gifting it his tears, as though he can scrub his shame away and emerge anew is tempting. 

Though he tries there’s no avoiding his reflection as he brushes his teeth, his round cheeks and a softness to his jaw he’s all too aware of when Geralt nips at it as he works towards his neck. Slapping the light switch down the small night light struggles to cast a glow into the room, lighting little more than the sink but Jaskier’s more than fine with that as he strips, his clothes kicked into an unceremonious pile in the corner. 

With blind hands Jaskier cranks the shower to a near scalding degree, steam weakening the small night light as he steps under the spray. Going by feel Jaskier lathers up his loofah, the permeating scent telling him which bottle he’d grabbed. Starting with his chest Jaskier scrubs down one arm then the other, each swipe leaving his skin tingling and raw, the hot water stinging where it hits.

Even in the dim light Jaskier can’t avoid the pale dome of his belly, starting to round so far out it now obscures part of his feet. Jaskier scrubs harder as Ciri’s words rise unbidden to his mind, _All better now?_

Allbetternowallbetternowallbetternowallbetternowallbetternow. All better

  
  
  
  
  


_now_.

Jaskier’s skin burns, what had been needle pricks at the start he can barely withstand and has to force himself to lean far enough into the spray to crank the handle back to off. The towel is rough against his skin and Jaskier wonders how Geralt makes it through his days swathed in abrasive cloth without so much as a complaint. 

Yanking open the bathroom door Jaskier is met with a wave of cool air, raising goose flesh as it chases the clouds of steam away, revealing Geralt waiting for him on the edge of the bed. Jaskier takes a step back, meaning to close himself into the bathroom but hurt smooths into acceptance and Jaskier abandons his retreat. 

As quickly as he can Jaskier yanks on a pair of soft pants, forgoing boxers in his haste to get as much covered as quickly as possible, the shirt proving more difficult as it clings to his wet skin. 

Geralt hasn’t moved from where he’s sitting on the side of the bed, his back to Jaskier so he doesn’t see the hesitation as Jaskier stands there, wondering if he’s even welcome here after his spectacle. 

“Would you like me to hold you?” Geralt asks the question to his clasped hands, hanging between his knees as though in prayer to a god who only listens long enough to twist the plea.

Jaskier wavers. He wants nothing more than to curl up in Geralt’s arms, the reassurance of simply being in them, the way they silence the voice and thoughts that plague him the rest of the day but he doesn’t deserve it. 

Geralt mistakes his silence as his answer, with a slow nod to himself he pushes to his feet, turning to leave he finds Jaskier standing frozen on the other side of the bed, tears streaming down his face as he watches Geralt with such longing. Watery blue eyes watch as he walks around the bed, hands sliding down t-shirt clad shoulders to forearms eliciting a hiss and he better takes in the pink tinge to Jaskier’s skin, a tenderness that comes only from scrubbing oneself raw. 

Geralt drops his hands, certain anywhere he touches will just cause pain. Leaning past Jaskier he pulls the sheet and light quilt back, unmaking the top half of the bed in one smooth motion. Holding Jaskier’s gaze he gently works his t-shirt off, knowing the sheets would be kinder on his tenderized skin than the shirt; Jaskier having made a point of washing and remaking the bed with the special Valentine’s sheets once his suspicions were confirmed that they were kinder on his scars. 

Fresh tears trickle down Jaskier’s cheeks but he doesn’t protest the undressing and Geralt shoves aside feelings of unease, surely Jaskier was comfortable with him enough to voice his discomfort. Already dressed in his pajamas Geralt climbs into bed on Jaskier’s side, moving so he’s closer to the middle than his own side he holds out a hand, “Let me hold you Jaskier.” 

Jaskier takes the offer for what it is, an absolution of sins Geralt doesn’t know but is willing to pardon. The sheets are cool against his skin, Geralt settling the blanket over them his hand hovers over Jaskier’s side, where it usually rests while they sleep before he rests it on his own thigh, afraid of causing more pain. 

The silence of the night curls around them, a security blanket of its own that emboldens Jaskier. 

“On her birthday, Ciri used her wish for me, told me ‘Your tummy’s gonna get better. I wished for it’.” Her words had been seared in his mind since she’d whispered them in his ear, breath hot against his cheek. “I wasted her wish. It’s all she wanted for her _birthday_ and I…” The words are lost to a shuddering breath. 

“You didn’t waste it, Jask.”

“I–”

“How are you _not_ better than you were at her birthday?” Jaskier’s teeth clack as he snaps his mouth shut, the few arguments that come to mind are easily dismissed, though small he can see the victory in them. “You didn’t waste her wish. You carried it with you and got better and tonight you ate a brownie she made.” 

It sounds like the simplest thing in the world and it is. Ciri had been so ecstatic that her wish worked, that she’d made him well enough he could eat one of her brownies, that the fear of him being sick was lifted from shoulders too tiny to carry such weight. 

With the stinging from his skin fading, Jaskier presses himself closer to Geralt. Maybe not _all_ better, but he was getting there. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I call back to a moment in BatS where I used a child to give your feels a swift kick in the shin and then go for the other shin this time? Why yes, yes I did. Does my depravity know no bounds? It _does_ we just haven't reached them. Yet.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of having a home, to stay in or return to and and as enticing as all the things the way Geralt is looking at him promises, Jaskier knows he planned tonight special.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back lovely readers!  
> So, fun bit, I _completely_ forgot about this chapter so it was new to me as well.  
> And turns out you all get some fluff. _shakes Flangst Meter like an Etch-a-Sketch_  
>  And a huge thank you to VeritasRose for betaing!

Since Macee had gifted him with distraction in the form of a ukulele, Jaskier found himself excited to go to work once more. He also found his snacks being eaten without his notice, fingers blindly scrabbling in the bottom of empty bags as he scribbled lyrics before they could be forgotten.

Jaskier had surreptitiously looked up the price of a ukulele, not wanting Geralt to get any ideas, he’d already given him more than he could ever repay in any kind.

“Alas, our final week together and I’m just starting to learn your wily ways.” Jaskier sighs, picking out a jaunty tune. Jaskier is pulled from his musings by the approach of Macee towing a visibly upset child. The boy looked to be a bit younger than Ciri, still young enough to be upset at losing their adult. 

“This is my friend Julian. You can hang with him while I find your mom.” The boy looks more alarmed at the prospect of being handed off and Jaskier knows he needs to act fast or Macee will have a shadow. 

“Hello,” Jaskier glances to Macee who mouths the boy’s name. “Alec. What do you say you stay with me while Macee goes and finds your mom? She’s the _best_ at hide and seek so she’ll find your mom _so_ fast.” Alec looks to Macee who smiles encouragingly, both fearing she won’t be able to step away. 

“What’s your favorite Disney movie?” Jaskier asks the question nearly every child has an answer to.

“Aladdin.” The words are teary, a finger poking at his lips as he fights the urge to self-soothe. Alec’s hand drops as Jaskier launches into the Street Urchin song.

“Let’s see if I can guess your favorite song. Is it this one?” Jaskier keeps playing, singing the lyrics in a falsetto that makes Alec start to smile.

“Nuh-uh.” Macee uses the distraction to slip away.

“Mm. How about– “ Jaskier’s fingers slow to A Whole New World, Alec wrinkling his nose, clearly not taken with that scene in the movie. 

“Nooo.” Alec draws the word out as though it’s absurd _that_ would be his favorite song. 

“I bet it’s–” Nimble fingers switch to the quick tempo of Prince Ali, Alec smiling happily as Jaskier belts out the lyrics, changing Ali to Alec. As the song is winding down Macee appears with a frantic woman at her side, relief clear when she spots her son, safe at the desk.

“Alec!” The woman gathers him in her arms, a comfort that would have been better received songs ago.

“Mom! He knows _the_ song.” Alec informs her, wriggling out of her grasp. Unsurprisingly the woman isn’t as excited about this bit of news and with a distracted thank you to Jaskier she leads Alec away, the boy glancing back, all too happy to stay and be serenaded.

o~O~o

Jaskier eyes his reflection again. Geralt had told him to wear something comfortable but on the warmer side. Dressed in his stretch jeans and hoodie over a t-shirt Jaskier figured he _was_ pretty comfortable, but it was date night, a celebration for the end of Cardiac Rehab. With a resigned sigh Jaskier turns and heads downstairs, Geralt had requested this dress and so he could bear it. 

Geralt steps in from the garage as Jaskier enters the kitchen, smiling as he takes him in. “You look cozy.” 

Jaskier eyes narrow, giving Geralt a skeptical look that’s chased away by Geralt wrapping his arms around his waist, pulling him close for a kiss. “Mmm. I’d be _very_ ok making this date a night in.” Jaskier says, starting to walk backwards, tugging Geralt by his hips. He manages to get Geralt to the bottom of the stairs before Geralt’s pulling back.

“Truly, Jask, would you rather stay home tonight?” 

Jaskier doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of having a home, to stay in or return to and and as enticing as all the things the way Geralt is looking at him promises, Jaskier knows he planned tonight special.

“We can stay in _after_ we go out.” Jaskier seals his decision with a kiss, one that has them momentarily rethinking the decision but Jaskier has wished it and so Geralt forces himself to part.

Jaskier occupies himself with the playlist for the night, willing his mind to be otherwise occupied lest he start trying to figure out their destination and ruin the surprise. He doesn’t have to distract himself for long as soon they’re on unfamiliar roads, seeming to head to nowhere on the corner of nothing. Geralt seems confident in their heading so Jaskier just enjoys the feeling of Geralt’s hand in his as he watches the landscape painted by dusk.

The turn off is little more than worn gravel disappearing into the trees that have lined the road for the past couple miles, but Geralt seems sure as he guides the truck down it. 

As though passing through a veil, the sight that greets Jaskier sees him leaning forward, Geralt grinning as he slows so Jaskier can take it all in as he watches Jaskier’s expression.

Like stepping back in time there’s a small building off to the side, a mock-up of an old theater ticket booth complete with marquee sign announcing the night’s attractions. Across a field, flattened by dozens of vehicles, is the biggest screen Jaskier’s ever seen. 

Geralt aligns himself with the window, the kid inside looking barely old enough to have a job. A small sign denotes the prices and Geralt passes over a crisp twenty dollar bill, waving the change back towards the tip jar, the operator grinning his thanks. 

Geralt maneuvers the truck across the field, following some unseen route everyone there seems to know.

“Um, Geralt…” Jaskier cranes around in his seat as Geralt parks the truck facing away from the screen. Geralt just smiles, stealing a kiss when Jaskier looks back at him before climbing out of the truck. Jaskier watches as Geralt circles around, opening his door and inviting him out before ushering him to the side. In the backseat are more blankets than Jaskier knew Geralt owned along with a picnic basket. 

Geralt makes short work of padding the truck bed, Jaskier watching as the field comes alive, those closer to the front having wandered from their cars parked far off to the side spread blankets on the ground. 

Turning, Geralt takes a moment just enjoying watching Jaskier marvel at the night around him. With a gentle hand Geralt tugs Jaskier after him, picking their way across the field towards the concession stand. 

It looks like something from the 50’s and Jaskier half expects to see the servers zipping around on roller skates but it’s tramped grass here as well. There’s a young woman manning the walk-up window, the quick moving line kept short. 

“What can we–oh! Mr. Bellegarde, how are you tonight?” If Jaskier didn’t know better he would feel threatened by the way this woman looks at Geralt, her smile only growing as it flicks between them, taking in their clasped hands.

“Geralt.” He chides her gently in a tone that says they’ve done this many times over.

“Geralt.” She says, nodding as though to make it stick. “What can we get for you tonight?” She follows his gaze as he turns to Jaskier who isn’t prepared, eyes widening at the unexpected focus. 

“Oh! Um…” Jaskier falters as his eyes trip down a list of foods he knows he can’t stomach even if his mind would let him. Thoughts consumed him of how he’s not only embarrassing Geralt in front of someone who clearly knows him but that he’s also managed to ruin the date night before it’s little more than started steals any hope of figuring out which will cause him the _least_ amount of pain to ingest.

“Kit-Kat and…” Jaskier takes the hint, relieved to have the options narrowed and says, “Reese's please.” Jaskier catches the cartoon popcorn tub name-tag reading Kate as she turns back. Setting their candy on the counter. 

“Come all the way out here and doesn't even say hi.” A woman appears from the depths of the stand, unmistakably Kate’s mother. She looks at Jaskier and gives Geralt a meaningful look, a small smile Jaskier’s seen on Triss and Yennefer before, one that says she sees more than just what’s in front of her. 

“Liza.” Geralt says by way of greeting. “Danny working tickets?” Geralt easily sidesteps the question, Kate smiling like she knew he was going to respond with a non-answer. 

“Finally tall enough to see over the counter.” Kate’s mom laughs and Jaskier can’t tell if she’s fully kidding or not. 

“How’s Josh?” The change is palpable, Kate looking to her mom, biting her bottom lip.

“Latest round took a lot out of him.” Liza says with a straightening of her shoulders.

“”If you need–”

“We’ll get through, we always do.” This last is said to Kate as she sweeps hair off her shoulder, tucking it behind her ear. The gesture isn’t dismissive but more a reassurance that things won’t get bad enough they’ll need extra assistance. Geralt nods, understanding more than Jaskier does. 

Slipping a worn wallet from his pocket he slides over a ten spot, once again waving off the change. “College fund.” As though matching the gesture Liza adds two disposable coffee cups to the candy bars, Geralt murmuring their thanks as he passes one of the cups to Jaskier he collects their candy and turns to go, making it no further than a few steps before Kate’s voice halts Geralt.

“Graduation is May 12.” Kate bites her lip again, clearly wanting to say more but not sure how to arrange the words.

“I know.” Geralt says, his smile freeing her bottom lip from her teeth. The way back to the truck is slower, evening light having claimed the night while they were at the concession stand. Jaskier warms his hands on his mystery cup as he follows Geralt back to the truck, mind playing the conversation over and over, feeling like he’s heard one side of a phone call for all that he understands.

Geralt offers a hand to steady Jaskier as he climbs into the truck bed, following behind him once he’s up. Jaskier restrains himself from tucking into Geralt’s side as he uses the small flashlight to tune what looks to be a portable radio, glancing up at Jaskier with a knowing smile. When the sound of the dancing concessions on screen play from the radio Geralt shuts off the flashlight and sets them off to the side. 

Jaskier contains himself no longer and situates himself in the vee of Geralt’s legs, leaning back against his chest he drags one of the many blankets over them, warding off the cooling night air. 

“It could be considered a family business but really they just do it on the side, not many people know it’s out here.” Geralt starts, knowing Jaskier is burning with questions but respectful enough not to ask. 

“But _you_ knew about it. Seems like you come here often.” Jaskier hated that he assumed Geralt knew them through the Witchers but Geralt wasn’t exactly a people person so it was a fair assumption. 

“Hmm.” Jaskier thinks Geralt means to leave it at that and he understands, though he may be a Witcher, it doesn’t necessarily mean he gets to look at some ledger of those they’ve helped. “Liza, Kate and Danny came under Witcher protection...eight years ago. A few years later she met Josh, he’s been a great father to them.” There’s something in the way Geralt prefaces father, as though he doesn’t need the qualifier but understands others do, as though he holds the title father to a standard others don’t.

“No wonder Kate seemed sweet on you, you’re the white knight of her fairytales.” Jaskier shifts to the side so he can see Geralt’s expression, ensure that Geralt understands he isn’t taking this information lightly. 

Geralt gives Jaskier that flat blink that never serves to do anything other than set him laughing. “I’m sorry I didn’t introduce you.” 

“Oh.” Jaskier blinks owlishly at his boyfriend, it hadn’t registered that Geralt didn’t introduce him, Jaskier so used to being left out of such formalities with Valdo had mostly forgotten the custom. 

Geralt’s mouth flattens in that way that tells Jaskier he understands too much from the little Jaskier has said but before he says anything Geralt says, “They already know about you. Your name at the very least.” 

Jaskier doesn’t expect this and sits up, shifting around so he can face Geralt fully. “They _what_?” Jaskier’s mind wonders if the _Witcher Weekly_ he’d joked about is an actual thing, if there’s announcements placed in there like normal newspapers. Certain one of the girls was cheeky enough to place an ad proclaiming their fearless leader having taken a boyfriend.

“Bunch of damn gossips, Eskel and Lambert the worst of ‘em.” Geralt grumbles and Jaskier loses the fight to contain his grin and the laughter that echoes into the night. This was so much better than any newsletter, this was a room full of scary bikers in their worn leathers whispering the latest on relationships and of the White Wolf himself. Oh Macee was going to love this. 

“I should’ve introduced you properly. I _want_ to.” Night having fully fallen Geralt’s features are little more than shadows but Jaskier doesn’t need to see to know the regret he’d find there. 

“I think bringing me here tells them all they need to know.” Jaskier straddles Geralt, lacing his fingers behind his neck he ducks his head, nipping Geralt’s lip until they part for Jaskier’s tongue. The sound of the opening credits sees Jaskier grinning against Geralt’s lips as he sits back laughing softly at the thought of them making out like teenagers at the movie theater. 

“Turning our going out into staying in.” Jaskier whispers as he settles himself in the vee of Geralt’s legs, strong arms bringing the blanket over them once more. The credits give way to the title Jaskier had spied on their way in, one of the titles Geralt had read to him and Jaskier settles in, not wanting to miss a moment so he could discuss it with some skill with Geralt after.

Geralt presses his forgotten cup into his hand not long after the movie starts, Jaskier letting out a surprised noise at his first taste. “This is _your_ hot chocolate.” Jaskier whispers.

“It’s just homemade.” Geralt’s words are soft in his ear but Jaskier settles in with his cup, the majority of him refusing to believe it’s anything but _Geralt’s_ special brew. Geralt produces various snacks from the picnic basket, arranging them within easy reach for both of them and Jaskier reminds himself this is date night and that Geralt packed these for them to enjoy with a movie, not because it was part of his meal plan.

As he’s drawn into the movie Jaskier finds himself losing count of how many times he’s taken some of the snacks, or that he traded half his candy for half of Geralt’s and finished both. Feeling comfortably full with a low thrumming of sugar coursing through him he sinks back into Geralt’s warmth, smiling into the night as he feels Geralt wrap his arms around him and slip them into the front pocket of his hoodie. 

For the first time in months Jaskier feels fully content. Cardiac Rehab was behind them, he was still adjusting to his new meal plan but even that was getting better. Tonight would mark the first night of them settling back into normal, Geralt wouldn’t have to worry so much about him anymore and they could have more nights like this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank you enough all enough for reading and sharing your reactions. I nearly forgot to post this chapter, not because I don't look forward to sharing this story with you, you lovely readers are the bright spots in my week. It's just real life has just gotten awfully heavy and dimmed the little light that reminded me I promised you all a chapter.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All he can think is how disappointed they'll be, he'd been doing so much better lately so of course he has to go and fuck it all up like he always does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back lovely readers! I can't thank you all enough for being here or sharing your thoughts! You've really brightened my week and I appreciate it!  
> Huge thanks to VeritasRose for betaing!  
> This is a long chapter, I considered breaking it in two, but I won't do that to you.

Jaskier is definitively _not_ panicking. Or at least that’s what he keeps telling himself as he checks his closet once more. He doesn’t have that many clothes but the hope that he’s somehow managed to miss the only leather jacket he owns, the _most_ important jacket he owns, has somehow been missed on the other six occasions he’s done this exact thing. 

Having taken every article of clothing out, even Geralt’s which he considered a necessity since that man bought stock in black clothing and laid them on the bed he was faced with the reality his Witcher jacket wasn’t in the closet.

 _That’s fine_. He reasons as he closes the closet door, fingers itching to pull it back open, certain the jacket will be hanging from the ceiling like a magic trick, _It’s just downstairs in the mudroom_. The mudroom that had started this whole process and was now making them late because Jaskier couldn’t leave without it.

The thought pauses him on the steps, he _could_ leave without it and that would solve the embarrassment of having to ask whether they wanted him wearing it, ill fitting as it was. But each step down grows heavier as he thinks how that will go, admitting that he so carelessly lost the jacket they’d given him mere months ago, the honor they’d bestowed upon him so heedlessly discarded.

Jaskier has to leave, he promised to get to the White Wolf early and he was already several minutes behind for that goal, if he waited much longer Geralt would worry and the last thing he wanted was a repeat of the night he’d forgotten his phone in the kitchen, Geralt didn’t need any more stress. 

With a hopeless check of the mudroom, only his rainbow jacket on the hook, Geralt having donned his own Witcher jacket before leaving, waits for him. It will not only clash with his deep green tee shirt, it will only serve to highlight how much he doesn’t belong on the float with the others; if they even allow him to still ride. 

The drive to the bar twists Jaskier’s stomach until he’s not certain he can make it out of his car without being sick, his throat so tight he’s not even sure he’ll be able to get the words out. All he can think is how disappointed they'll be, he'd been doing so much better lately so of course he has to go and fuck it all up like he always does.

Jaskier is grateful he’s in the employee parking around back, taking an extra moment to try and breathe through the worst of the panic. 

Slipping in the back door Jaskier takes a shuddering breath as he heads for Geralt’s office, his last hope in finding his jacket before having to own up but he doesn’t make it, the door closing behind him signaling his arrival. Geralt appears at the head of the hallway, relief easing his features as he takes Jaskier in, the pit in his stomach only growing.

“Sorry I’m late–” Jaskier gets no further as Geralt looks over his shoulder. “Yeah it’s him.” Jaskier starts forward only for Eskel to appear around Geralt and start down the hall.

“I needed to talk to you for a minute.” Eskel looks pained at the words and Jaskier wishes he was braver, that he could save Eskel the embarrassment of politely excusing him from the float and just do it himself but he’s fairly certain if he opens his mouth only sick will come out.

With a hard swallow and nod Jaskier heeds Eskel’s gesture for him to step into the office, trying not to flinch when Eskel pushes the door to almost closed behind them. 

“Eskel-”

“Jaskier–” Eskel’s soft smile drops as he gets his first good look at Jaskier. “Are you ok? If you’re not up for today everyone will understand. Do you need something to eat? A smoothie?” 

Eskel looks so concerned it gives voice to Jaskier, “No I don’t, I’m fine. I’m sorry. I can’t be in the parade and I shouldn’t be a Witcher.” The words trip over themselves and for a long moment silence hangs between them as Eskel tries to understand, Jaskier’s unease only growing until he has to reach a steadying hand out to the arm of the couch. 

“Why _shouldn’t_ you be a Witcher.” Eskel asks slowly as though he’s repeating words in a foreign language, keen eyes noting the bracing hand Jaskier reached out. 

Jaskier’s bracing breath shudders, it was one thing to so openly admit his failings to Geralt who didn’t see them as such, who reassured him it was a sign he was in recovery. “My Witcher jacket doesn’t fit anymore, I can’t zip it up and I was going to see if you’d rather I didn’t…” Jaskier gestures with his free hand, filing in the unnecessary words so he can get the rest out. “But none of it matters because I lost it.” 

Jaskier knew Eskel was a bouncer in the sense that he knew Triss was a waitress, he’d watched both of them at their job often enough at night. It’s only in this moment that Jaskier fully comprehends what Eskel as a bouncer looks like, for the first time since he’s met the man Jaskier finds himself scared to be in his presence.

“Julian.” His name is low, Eskel’s mouth a grim line as he gestures for Jaskier to sit and though every instinct in Jaskier’s body encourages him to turn and run for the door he knows better than to turn his back in these instances and so he sits. 

Eskel seems to realize his error as he sits on the other end of the couch, taking slow breaths he keeps his hands loose on his knees, seeming to gather his thoughts before he looks at Jaskier. “You are a Witcher regardless of the jacket, the same you are still a musician even when you don’t have a guitar in hand.” 

Jaskier’s breath hitches. Since being given the jacket, since _becoming_ a Witcher, Jaskier had seen himself just a little bit differently, saw a little of what they did in him, that maybe he was worth something. But the last time he’d put the jacket on, when he had to accept he’d gotten so fat it didn’t fit was the same day he quit deluding himself that they saw him with anything but pity and as Geralt’s boyfriend. 

“I...know.” Jaskier starts slowly. “Geralt told me...in the hospital,” Jaskier falters when Eskel cringes at the mention of his heart attack. 

Eskel studies Jaskier, his hands just as loose on his knees as they’ve been the whole time but there’s a tension to his shoulders belying his ease. With a sigh Eskel uses those same hands to push himself to standing and though Jaskier’s stomach still urges him to his knees, he pushes to his feet, understanding he was being dismissed.

Eskel doesn’t head for the door, instead he turns towards the bank of lockers and closes the distance between them. Jaskier watches, trying to determine what was expected of him, was he supposed to leave or maybe he needed to pay for the jacket since he couldn’t return it. 

Eskel pulls a Witcher jacket from the locker and Jaskier’s cheeks burn, of course Eskel would need to prepare for the parade. Turning, Jaskier makes it no further than pulling open the door before Eskel draws him back.

“I’m truly sorry, Jaskier. For all of this.” Eskel says, as though Jaskier isn’t hovering in the open doorway, as though he hadn’t just tried to walk out on Eskel. “It’s tradition to move the letters from one jacket to the next whenever one of us needs a new one. We thought if you noticed it missing you’d ask and Geralt would tell you you’d forgotten it here one night.

Jaskier wraps his arms around his stomach, the words Eskel are saying aren’t making any sense. He hasn’t worn the jacket in weeks, much less to the White Wolf where it could be forgotten but he doesn’t want to tell Eskel this but Eskel is looking at him like he expects Jaskier to say something. Jaskier just wishes he knew what. “It didn’t...so I haven’t. Didn’t want to taint the reputation.”

Eskel’s entire body sighs and in that breath Jaskier can’t find the bouncer in the man anymore, can’t see anything but sadness etched in every bit of him. “You know when I first met Ciri she cried when she looked at me.” 

Jaskier can’t help it, he winces _for_ Eskel. Working in the museum he saw firsthand how cruel children could be without meaning to, their world unfiltered by social niceties. 

“We follow your logic, I shouldn’t wear the jacket either–”

“ _No_ , Eskel.” Jaskier vehemently shakes his head, horrified at what he’s accidentally implied.

Eskel nods, voice gentle as he says, “You don’t _have_ to be a Witcher. You have the qualities we look for in candidates who apply, that’s why Lambert and I petitioned for you to join. If you don’t _want_ to be a Witcher we won’t hold it against you, it’s not for everyone and doesn’t make you less.” Eskel pauses, letting this sink in, watching the many emotions play out across Jaskier’s face as he wars with the automatic answer that threatens verses what he truly wants but doesn’t feel he deserves.

“Give me one good reason, Jaskier, just one on why you shouldn’t be a Witcher.” Eskel commands softly, knowing it’s playing dirty but he needs Jaskier to see. 

The silence drags on but Eskel has all the time in the world. Jaskier stares at the floor by Eskel’s boots as his mind scrambles for one excuse, one example, but none come, only Geralt’s words _The jacket doesn’t make you a Witcher, just like this doesn’t make you useless._

“I can’t.” Jaskier finally murmurs, dragging his eyes up to meet Eskel’s. 

“Because there isn’t one. She cried cause she thought I was hurt.” Eskel shrugs, a small smile pulling up the scarred side of his face. “It’s all about perception, Jaskier.” 

A smile twitches Jaskier’s lips as he thinks of a tiny baby Ciri so worried for Eskel being hurt when the hurt was already long past.

“ _I’m_ sorry. We had Geralt lift your jacket so we could get the letters. We should have just asked you what size you needed, it’s what we do with everyone else who joins. We just,” Eskel briefly ducks his head, huffing a laugh as he looks back at Jaskier. “We just wanted to _give_ it to you.” 

“It fit...when you gave it to me.” The twisting feeling that had eased inside him is back and Jaskier regrets the smoothie he’d drank before leaving starting the jacket search. 

Eskel’s features fall. “I’m truly sorry, Jaskier. But...look, Yennefer is better at saying this and making it sound…” Eskel gestures with the hand not holding the jacket.

“Motherly?” Jaskier supplies.

“Exactly. But, look, you look good. And don’t, whatever you’re thinking, just stop. You really scared us in those early days and...you just look good ok? And if you need another jacket there’s no shame in that. Ok?” 

_For years to come_. Jaskier let’s Geralt's words settle in his mind, let’s them remind him that this is his family, that they chose him long before he realized he’d chosen them as well. 

As though he can see the honest belief in his words settle in Jaskier, Eskel bridges the distance between them with the new jacket, cool fingers brushing his as Jaskier accepts it. This time when Jaskier puts it on, Witcher settling across his shoulders feels like an honor, feels like family.

o~O~o

Jaskier finds himself grinning wildly at his own foolishness from atop the float. He’d never considered the Patty’s Parade would resemble anything like an actual parade and yet halfway through the route he’s still marveling at what his life has become since he met his white wolf. 

The float is decorated in swathes of every green imaginable, the children from the families the Witchers have helped had been unleashed on it the previous evening in a night of crafts and pizza. Little more than a flatbed trailer there’s a towering shamrock in the middle, courtesy of the adults and decorated by the children. At a distance Jaskier had found nothing special about it but once he’d stepped onto the float he saw in various greens the different symbols from other chapters that worked with the Witchers. 

Jaskier keeps waving, eyes scanning the crowd so he doesn’t miss Ciri who had texted and reminded him to wave at her during the parade, a promise he intended to keep. He risks a glance back, smile widening at Ciri’s bit of handiwork on the guy’s motorcycles, green sparkly streamers like you’d see on a bicycle flutter from their handlebars. 

Moving at little more than a crawl their helmets had been left at the rendezvous point, meaning Jaskier gets to see the blush stain Geralt’s cheeks when he winks at him, Eskel and Lambert’s laughs ringing out. 

“Pama! Julian!” Even if she hadn’t called out to them it would be easy to spot Ciri in the crowd, her green and white tulle tutu accompanied by converse and mini leather jacket, sparkly green shamrock antennae bobbing on her head. Yennefer and Triss flank her, waving as the guys pass, Ciri squealing when she gets a synced salute from Geralt, Lambert and Eskel. 

Towards the end of the route Jaskier spies Betty, surrounded by children he’s seen enough times in pictures to know they’re hers. He waves as they pass, even Eskel gives her a respectful nod and though Jaskier still thinks she was kidding about street cred with her grandchildren he did his best.

For all the fun the route was, Jaskier is grateful when it’s over, his body having grown used to a routine is protesting his distinct ignoring it and he’s certain Geralt would hear his stomach growling if not for the crowd milling around them. 

“You want to go home? Lay down for a bit?” Geralt asks, setting his hands loosely on Jaskier’s waist, claiming him as his own, a show Jaskier will never tire of. 

Jaskier knows he should, that the crash later will be so much worse but there’s a thrumming through him that he knows will keep him from sleep even if he were in Geralt’s arms. 

“No. I’m–” Jaskier’s stomach chooses that moment to interrupt and tell Geralt exactly what he wants, Geralt too close not to hear the growl. Jaskier’s cheeks burn as he ducks his head but Geralt’s rumbling laugh draws it back up.

“Lunch it is.” Pulling Jaskier close for what he thinks is a kiss Geralt whispers, “It’s a wonderful sound, Jask.” With a kiss that renews the burn in Jaskier’s cheeks he pulls him over to Roach, retrieving the spare helmet on their way. 

Geralt will never get over the feeling of Jaskier behind him on Roach, the way Jaskier presses his hips flush against Geralt, his arms wrapped around his waist even though Jaskier is capable of holding himself up he _wants_ to be pressed close. Geralt can’t resist taking the long way back to the bar, winding streets that stretch out the feeling a few minutes longer until finally he’s forced to pull into the parking lot. 

Shedding their jackets in the office they head down the hall to the main room, blessedly silent as the Wolf wasn’t set to open for about an hour yet, Geralt insisted that people could start celebrating at a more reasonable hour. 

“Bought damn time. Thought you’d gotten lost.” Lambert greets them, Ciri happily reminding him of the swear jar. 

There’s not enough time to rearrange the tables and get them back again so they’re scattered across adjacent tables, the individual pot pies Geralt made quick enough to heat up and soon everyone is tucking into a dinner that will fortify them for the night. 

“We go swimming soon?” Ciri asks hopefully.

“Cirilla.” Yennefer’s chastising tone only tempers Ciri slightly, Geralt just grinning softly taking the bite out of the rude question.

“We haven’t gotten the pool yet. They’ll start working on it in a few weeks and then by the time school’s out it’ll be ready for you.” Geralt tells her. Once Ciri had learned Geralt and Jaskier were getting a pool she was obsessed with the idea of swimming. Yennefer had debated trying to explain that it wasn’t just so she could swim and have fun but that it was to help Jaskier though she had dismissed the idea when she couldn’t form a way to go about it that wouldn’t leave Ciri scared for Jaskier all over again or have her make some well-meaning but hurtful comment. 

“That’s a long ways away.” Ciri’s mouth twists to the side as she thinks it over. 

“We’ll just have to play Catan and go to the museum and have adventures to make it go by quicker?” Jaskier offers, Ciri brightening at the willing participant to her favorite game and a promise of adventure. 

Lunch had the desired effect Geralt hoped it would and by the time they’re cleaning up Jaskier is yawning, the sitting and warm food chasing the buzz of the parade from him. Ciri makes her goodbyes, Yennefer running her home to the sitter before returning for the night in time for the bar to open. 

Geralt tries to ignore the burning in his cheeks at the knowing smile Eskel gives him as he tugs Jaskier towards the hall, knowing now is his best chance to get him to rest before the bar gets too loud. 

“I’m f–” Jaskier’s protest at the sight of the couch is cut off by a jaw-cracking yawn. Geralt looks smug when he finally manages to reign it in. “You cheated with dinner.” 

“Lunch.” Geralt corrects gently, ushering Jaskier to the couch who reluctantly sits, tugging Geralt down next to him. Geralt takes what’s usually Jaskier’s spot, tucked into the arm of the couch but this way Jaskier is snuggled into his side, stretching the length of the couch. Geralt absently trails his fingers up and down Jaskier’s arm, listening to his breathing slow, Jaskier growing heavier against him once sleep has claimed him and though he doesn’t mean to, the night’s catch up to him, hand slowing as he drifts off.

o~O~o

The din coming from the main room was louder than it was on New Year’s Eve, Jaskier nearly unable to hear himself warming up. 

Jaskier’s cheeks burn at the memory of Eskel waking them, Jaskier’s sleep addled mind, having forgotten he’d fallen asleep at the Wolf, had protested and burrowed into Geralt’s side, Eskel’s laugh snapping him awake.

With a sigh Jaskier admits defeat on trying to warm up, he’s played cold before and sets about polishing off the rest of his snack courtesy of Geralt. He’d had his pick from the desk drawer Geralt had apparently dedicated solely to Jask Snacks, something Jaskier had yet to stop teasing him about since learning of its existence a few weeks past.

“You ready?” Geralt’s question gets lost to the amplified sound of the bar pouring in through the opened door. His smile easing when he spies the empty baggie next to Jaskier.

This had become their ritual, no matter how busy the bar got, Geralt would always slip away long enough to escort him down the hall, tugging him back when he tried to pass without a kiss.

Some of the more spirited observers have already made their way and are scattered among the tables, green napkins tucked under their drinks. Geralt knew a long night was ahead of them, St. Patrick’s Day was already a popular night for the White Wolf but this year had the added edition of being on a Thursday, meaning many people had the intention of calling into work the following day and starting their weekend early and with a hangover.

o~O~o

Jaskier mounts the stage, dressed in more than just a smile, black skinny stretch jeans and a golden vest, delicate swirls of a deeper gold on the front, the satin back cinched, over a deep green button down. Geralt had taken one look at his stage outfit and the heat Jaskier had seen there promised an even longer night awaited.

In keeping with the spirit of the night, Jaskier launches into some of the bawdy Irish songs he’d learned just for the occasion, several of the choruses simple enough most of the bar joins in. 

Jaskier was surprised to find Rose and Lorelei in the crowd, winking and flashing what Lambert had dubbed his bastard-getting grin. 

All too soon the time for Jaskier’s break comes and though he wants to play one more song he knows better than to push...right now. 

The bar is crowded, even the hallway is lined with people waiting for the restroom but Jaskier’s seat has been carefully guarded. Though it’s several minutes before Geralt appears, Yennefer having flashed him an apologetic smile when he didn’t have a drink waiting like usual, he comes bearing dinner. It’s simple enough fare, noodles, steamed vegetables and finely shredded chicken but it’s the first of the two battles Jaskier faces tonight and he has to win this one to have any hope of launching the second. 

Jaskier doesn’t know if it’s Geralt’s looming presence or simply an unspoken custom, but Geralt’s stool is vacated not long after he gives Jaskier his plate.

Geralt leans in close to be heard over the din, “Want to eat in the office?” 

Though he had played a couple weekends now, Jaskier still misses being here, feeling the hum of the bar and adding his own energy with each song.

Jaskier shakes his head and digs in, taking time with each bite and just enjoying the night. Yennefer slides what Jaskier knows will be a virgin version of the night’s drink. A dressed up Midori Sour, a gold coin topping the toothpick spearing the cherries within. It’s sweet and delicious and Jaskier finds himself starting to ask for another before he thinks better of it, he’s still got one fight left and he doesn’t want a drink to ruin his chances before he even starts.

Jaskier can tell Geralt is concerned, the way he’s watching him, having noted his carefully slow eating, waiting for any signs that he’s hurting. Swiveling so he’s facing Geralt only proves to alarm his boyfriend more and the words he’d so carefully lined up come tripping out. “I want to play a little longer.”

Several emotions cross Geralt’s face, ones Jaskier is certain only he’s able to catch as his expression never shifts. It was a war battled again and again, messy for all that Jaskier was his boyfriend as much as an employee. A point Jaskier had made the mistake of comparing to the rest of their family. Geralt’s jaw had tightened and in the silence Jaskier had heard his answer, none of them had nearly killed themselves. Twice.

Jaskier wanted to push, to argue they were good as did each time they went on a Witcher call but he knew what Geralt would say, those calls were about saving someone’s life, not throwing it away.

“Not a whole set.” Jaskier quickly rushes on. “Just a few songs. I ate snacks and lunch and dinner.” The offer sounds foolish said aloud and Jaskier wishes he could take it back.

Geralt turns the words over and with each second that passes Jaskier debates acting more like an employee and less like his boyfriend. “Are you hurting?”

Jaskier jerks back, the question unexpected. “A little. More...heavy.” 

Geralt’s, “ _Hmm_ ,” is lost to the bar. “It’s up to you. Whatever you think best.” Jaskier can tell these aren’t the words Geralt _wants_ to say, but he’ll never tell Jaskier what to do, he’s had enough of that in his life.

Jaskier wants to want to stay here, perched on his stool and safe, he wants so badly to want that but he can’t give up tonight. “Just a few songs, I just...I feel like myself again.” Geralt’s eyes darkened at the words that still haunted him. _I don’t know how to be me anymore._ Geralt had spent long months watching Jaskier work through all the damage inflicted by Valdo, watched as he found his swagger and sass and he wouldn’t keep him from it. But he would still worry.

“Whatever you want, I support you.” The words cutting through the cacophony.

Jaskier’s throat closes and he’s not sure he can even play, much less that he wants to. Slipping from the stool Jaskier steps into the vee of Geralt’s legs, burrowing into his chest. Geralt’s arms wrap around him, knowing Jaskier’s thanks even though he’s unable to voice it, holding him up as Jaskier fights to control the contained tears that quake his body. 

Geralt shakes his head at the concerned look from Triss, Jaskier’s fine, he’s the finest he’s been since they’ve met him. 

Jaskier finally eases out of Geralt’s embrace, reluctant but needing to. With a watery kiss and a bitten back confirmation that Geralt won’t be angry Jaskier heads for the stage. 

He feels a bar full of stares on him as he mounts the stage and he swears a murmur carries his name through the crowd. In the few gestures it takes to don his guitar he finds Geralt in the crowd, the nervous waves welling inside him settle at the support he finds there.

o~O~o

“I don’t mind driving you.” Geralt keeps his arms loose about Jaskier’s waist, not wanting to be parted from him.

“I know. But you’re needed here.” Jaskier gently declines. As much as Geralt wanted to argue it was true, with Eskel and Lambert on the floor, hands already full, Geralt spent most of the night hauling more cases up for the girls or busing tables. 

“I go and sleep now and you can wake me when you get home.” Geralt raises an eyebrow at the suggestive lilt in Jaskier’s tone. 

“Hmm.” Ducking, he feigns a kiss to Jaskier’s lips, starting instead on his jaw and working his way down, the start of a promise for what’s to come.

o~O~o

Jaskier flings an arm out, blindly chasing his phone across the nightstand, its demanding insistence to be answered finally pulling him from sleep. 

As though all it needs is his touch, the phone falls silent and in its place chimes of the front bell sound through the house.

Shoving up from the bed, Jaskier thumbs his phone open, momentarily blinded before he can make out a slew of missed calls and texts from Yennefer. The most recent informing him she’s outside. 

Jaskier makes it to the bedroom door before he remembers he didn’t tell Geralt she was here and he’d certainly want to know. Turning Jaskier is met with an empty room and an even emptier bed, understanding weakening his knees. 

He takes the stairs too fast, swinging himself around by the banister, elbow cracking on the railing but he doesn’t register the pain as he heads for the sunroom door. 

Yennefer’s car is in the drive, her shadow looming on the other side of the door and he finds himself wondering why she didn’t just let herself in; they always let themselves in. 

Jaskier opens the door, meaning to say her name, say all the ways they both know she’s not mistaken. Because surely they would call _him_ if something happened. Geralt was _his_.

“Jaskier, there’s been an accident.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember way back at the opening author's note when it seemed like a good thing I didn't cut this chapter in half? Good times.  
> Actually, this is Chapter 32 of BatS all over again where I got the nervous giggles every time I thought of posting it. And so many of you have mentioned the looming angst...you were certainly not wrong!
> 
> (If you want to experience Eskel meeting Ciri for the first time that occurs in The Biker and the Wolf Cub)


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What _There’s_ did _been_ ….was _an_ he _accident_ …” Jaskier chokes on the question, if he doesn’t ask he doesn’t have to know and can continue to pretend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're all...intensely curious.  
> I'll keep this brief.  
> Welcome back. I appreciate you being here.  
> Thank you to VeritasRose for betaing!

_There’s been an accident._

An accident.

Something that wasn’t supposed to happen, something unexpected, something easily fixed.

Except there was nothing easily fixable about the tears streaming down Yennefer’s face, her whitened knuckles flashing in the passing streetlamps as she drives them to the hospital.

“What happened?” Even whispered the question fills the car.

“I don’t...Eskel called. Said the hospital called and,” Yennefer glances at Jaskier, the anticipation like acid in his stomach. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.” 

Jaskier takes this news in with the same numb acceptance he has everything else Yennefer has said. 

_There’s_

_been_

_an_

_accident._

The words are the heartbeat of his life now.

It’s only Yennefer’s guiding hand on his arm that moves him through the hospital. The hallway opens onto a waiting room, a place so familiar but for the first time Jaskier isn’t the patient. 

Lambert’s out of his chair first and something about it strikes Jaskier as wrong but this whole situation is wrong.

_There’s been an accident._

Eskel is slower to follow, pulling Triss up with him, his arm wrapped around her waist as she holds tight to him, lingering behind Lambert as though he can’t bring himself to face Jaskier.

Jaskier knows there are important questions to be asked, things he needs to know no matter how much he doesn’t want to hear them.

“What…” Jaskier shakes his head, trying to expel the one thought that’s burrowed there, that’s tucked itself between every word, every beat of his already weary heart. “I _There’s_ don’t _been_ understand _an_ …”

Lambert shifts to the side, looking uncomfortable as he folds his arms across his chest as though he can ward off the question. Eskel steps forward with such a look of reluctance Jaskier feels the words stop in his chest.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to see him before they took him into surgery, Jaskier. They couldn’t wait.” Eskel’s tone is apologetic but Jaskier’s mind holds to that one word. Surgery. Surgery meant there was something to fix, something to be done. 

Eskel looks to Yennefer and Lambert in the ensuing silence, Jaskier accepting these words with unexpected grace.

“But you’re all ok? No one else was hurt? Triss?” There’s a gleam to his eyes of unshed tears as he looks each of them over, Triss offering a watery smile as she roughly swipes the drying tear tracks from her cheeks, swallowing hard as he takes a little comfort in finding each of them hale. 

“It wasn’t a bar–” Eskel starts regretfully.

“Fucking drunk driver.” Lambert growls, earning matching frowns from Yennefer and Eskel.

 _I_ There’s _could_ been _drive_ an _you_ accident _home._

Jaskier drops to his knees, the meager dinner he’d eaten hours before splattering the tile between splayed fingers. There’s gentle hands on his back rubbing broad soothing strokes, stranger hands holding him steady as his stomach continues to heave, though there’s nothing left to give. 

Lambert eases Jaskier to his feet, a supporting arm around his waist so similar in its security for the scantest of moments he forgets it’s not Geralt. Lambert guides Jaskier over to a chair, his body remembering how to sit and take a drink from the cup pressed into his hands, washing the burning acid back down his throat.

When he comes back to himself he’s flanked by Yennefer and Triss, both turned toward him but Triss has one arm twisted behind her, holding tight to Eskel. 

Jaskier watches Lambert pace before him, a caged energy too used to commanding situations to have no hand in this one. The repetitive motion is soothing, slowing the many questions twisting together. 

“What happened?” Jaskier thinks he asked this question before, or thought about asking, or maybe he hasn’t asked it at all and is still only thinking it; he doesn’t really know anymore.

But Triss is leaning back, pulling Eskel forward. “The driver was drunk and ran the stop sign out on Route 10. Geralt was,” Eskel pauses, needing a moment. “He was in the intersection and was thrown from Roach. There was another driver who saw what happened and called it in.”

Jaskier curls over himself, Route 10 flashing in his mind, a four way stop so open in every direction Geralt would have seen the car coming. He would have noticed if he wasn’t so distracted, so focused on coming home, on making sure he was ok after staying and playing longer.

Geralt would have seen the truck if it wasn’t for _him_.

Jaskier’s stomach clenches painfully but there’s nothing left, Yennefer’s hand keeping him from falling to the floor. He waits for them to reassure him to tell him how this is just another time Roach had earned her name, but none do. Because they can’t. 

Every breath hurts, every part of him hurts but he needs to know.

“Did you...did you see him?” The words are asked to the floor, Jaskier missing the pained look on Eskel’s face. 

“I did.” Eskel admits.

Jaskier nods, a small bit of him relieved as new questions fill his mind. 

“What _There’s_ did _been_ ….was _an_ he _accident_ …” Jaskier chokes on the question, if he doesn’t ask he doesn’t have to know and can continue to pretend.

Eskel winces at the question, Triss squeezing his hand. “I’m sorry, Jaskier…” Eskel trails off when Jaskier turns to him confused.

“Why are you sorry?” Eskel has known Jaskier for months, knows this isn’t like him, but grief and stress make people say things they normally never would.

“You weren’t called first. I’m still listed as his emergency contact and–” Eskel cuts off as Jaskier shakes his head.

“I’m _glad_ you were here. You–you know better what to do. What he’d...want.” Eskel wants to protest, assure him he would have made the same calls but that’s not true. Eskel had done this on his own when Lambert was deployed, Vesemir arriving long after Eskel had signed away Geralt’s fate.

“The doctor’s said the surgery would take hours but they’d update us.” Eskel offers and Jaskier nods, but it’s uncertain whether he really understood.

o~O~o

Jaskier loses track of time. Willing it to slip by as he turns the night over and over. Geralt had taken up his post by the wall through the final few songs Jaskier played, only allowing himself to return to bar duty once he’d dismounted the stage, a few fans circling him. Jaskier had waited, nursing a second Midori Sour that tasted even sweeter after the success of his night. 

Jaskier can’t bring himself to look each time a doctor passes, the disappointment too much to bear again and again. But Triss doesn’t, with each doctor she straightens in her chair, ready to face whatever news is offered. Jaskier accepts each let down filtered through her.

Conversations are held around him, some about him but he doesn’t join in and only pays mind to even less. 

“He was tired.” Jaskier doesn’t realize he’s said the words aloud until the others quiet.

“Jaskier?” One of them asks, but it’s too hard to figure out who.

“He’s been so tired lately. He offered to drive me home and I should have let him, kept him with me.” The words are soft, his eyes searching the middle distance. 

“No, honey. You know he would have wanted to stay but insist on coming back.” The reassurance bites in its honesty that even Jaskier couldn’t keep him, not this time. Not after weeks of split shifts, not when he had just started to work his normal shifts again. 

Jaskier sits with the truth, invites it to listen to the words of his heart.

_There’s been an accident._

Jaskier loses track of time. And people.

“Where,” Jaskier licks his lips, willing their names to untangle.

Lambert frowns but Eskel is gentle as he reminds Jaskier, “Yennefer had to go. For Ciri. I sent Triss home to get some sleep, she’ll be back later.

“Right.” Jaskier nods but the word rings as false as it feels.

“You should try to finish.” Eskel gestures to what remains of a muffin and bottle of orange juice, something Jaskier had apparently started eating but had no recollection of. If he did he’s certain he would have declined the juice, still too harsh for him to handle.

Jaskier’s stomach cramps, whether at the prospect of food itself or the orange juice already not settling. Mouth watering, he swallows thickly, shaking his head he wraps his arms around his stomach, hunching under Eskel’s gaze.

Eskel studies Jaskier for a moment, looking as though he’s going to let the matter pass but Geralt isn’t here so he will be.

“You really should. I know you may not want to–” Eskel starts, frowning when Jaskier waves his words away, looking like he wants to protest but his lips are pressed into a thin line. 

Eskel waits for Jaskier to collect himself, the quiet concern drawing Lambert’s watchful gaze from where he paces.

“I can’t...can’t,” Jaskier swallows again, jaw clenched as he jabs an accusing finger at the offending bottle, Eskel following the directive pieces it together with a breathed, “Oh, shit.”

As though proximity were part of the problem, Eskel snatches up the bottle with a litany of apologies, each of which Jaskier wants to soothe but his jaw is clamped tight. Letting his eyes fall closed Jaskier tips his head back, breathing carefully through his nose, stomach cramping. 

_There’s been an accident_.

Jaskier digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, willing the burning away. Geralt was going to be fine, he’d been in accidents before. Yennefer and Triss wouldn’t leave if he wasn’t going to be. Round and round Jaskier reassures himself, willing the words to be true.

A gentle hand on his arm startles Jaskier, hands dropping to defensive and then his lap when he recognizes Eskel. 

Eskel tries to hide the wince behind understanding, it’s not Jaskier’s fault and he knew better, about this at least. Eskel offers a disposable coffee cup, steam curling from the small opening. “Tea.”

“Thanks–” Jaskier accepts the warmth, curling his cold fingers around it, cheeks burning as he realizes the sight he must make, pajama pants and an old shirt of Geralt’s, that’s far too snug, riding up. Mindlessly consuming whatever was put in front of him. 

“Sorry.” Jaskier forces himself to look first at Eskel, then Lambert, trying to impress how much he means it. He knows Geralt chose him but they didn’t and now _they’re_ the ones stuck with him.

Jaskier’s apology slows Lambert to a stop, Jaskier shrinking under the flat look leveled at him. Eskel doesn’t have to look to know Lambert is trying his damnedest to hold his tongue but he has to act quick and speak quicker. 

“Jaskier.” Eskel draws the attention back to him as he takes the seat next to Jaskier, keeping Lambert in the corner of his eye. “There’s no reason to be sorry.” Eskel doesn’t need Jaskier to say it, he sees the protest in his eyes, learned a close approximation of how he thinks these past months.

“Whatever you’re thinking, it’s wrong.” Eskel catches Lambert cross his arms over his chest, a sign he’s pleased with Eskel borrowing his bluntness. 

Jaskier shifts back in his seat, too tired and stressed to look properly affronted, the first protest rising to his lips is to remind Eskel there _was_ an accident but even tired as he is, Jaskier knows that’s not what he’s referring to. “You shouldn’t, you _don’t_ have to…” Jaskier weakly waves a hand to encompass all that they had done; the lingering and food and tea. It’s only part way through the gesture that Jaskier thinks how wrong he might have it. 

They _There’s_ were _been_ caring _an_ for _accident_ him. 

Jaskier realizes he was right all along, Geralt _had_ chosen him and they would watch over him out of respect for Geralt. Silently cursing himself for his own foolishness, Jaskier scrambles for a way out, a way to be less of a burden.

“It’s ok to need help. It’s ok to _not_ be ok.” Eskel’s gaze is burning where it searches Jaskier. " _We_ are here for you because we want to be. You’re part of the family, you’re stuck with us now.” The scarred side of Eskel’s face pulls up, offering Jaskier one of his rare true smiles. 

Protests rise in Jaskier but they’re hollow, more out of habit than truth. With a shuddering sigh Jaskier nods, “I still think you have that reversed.” 

Eskel lets the truth pass for the tease Jaskier wants it to be, knowing it will take time for him to fully accept that they see him as one of their own but for this they’ll spend that time reminding him again and again. 

o~O~o

“Family of Bellegarde?” 

Jaskier’s body reacts before his mind fully processes the words, what they mean, carrying him towards the older woman in deep blue scrubs, hair secured back in a painfully tight looking bun. Slowing to a stop before her he knows there’s questions he should be asking but his mind has gone blank. 

“If you’d like to follow me we can talk in a private room.” The doctor’s voice is kindness edged with a sharp bite. Jaskier nods, glancing back to Eskel and Lambert expectantly only to find them back by the chairs, his features furrowing in confusion. 

“This information is for family–” The doctor starts, having noted Jaskier’s distraction.

Without looking away from them Jaskier says, “They are family. They’re his brothers.” 

Eskel and Lambert waste no time catching up to the doctor, the private rooms just down the hall from the waiting room. She waits for them to pass before she closes the door behind them and gestures for them to take a seat in one of the many padded chairs lining the room, the corner of her mouth twitching up when none take the offer. This was not sitting down news for them, not today.

“I’m Dr. De Luca, the lead surgeon on Mr. Bellegarde’s case.” Her grip is cool and firm as she makes a point to shake each of their hands, meeting their gazes in turn as though it’s everyday she has two hulking bikers before her. 

“Geralt, is he...um...how…?” Jaskier can’t bring himself to ask, being all too familiar with what this type of room means having been in one before with his mom he stands, arms wrapped tight around himself. 

“He’s stable for now. Geralt came into the ER with broken ribs, a punctured lung, a fractured hip and a burst fracture.” De Luca pauses, giving them time to take this in, to ask questions but Eskel and Lambert, who know more is coming and to wait, glance at Jaskier. 

Jaskier turns these words over in his head, understanding two of the four and feeling all the more foolish for having spent months in a hospital and all the knowledge he’d absorbed fleeing in his moment of need. 

“Burst...um…” Jaskier doesn’t need to finish, the stuttered breath enough to prompt the doctor.

“A burst fracture can happen when sudden impact causes severe compression to the vertebrae, sending bits of broken bone into the spinal canal, causing it to be compressed. Geralt’s fracture occurred at the….” 

“....vertebral body….compression...spinal cord...neurological...none to complete paralysis...wake up….second...fusion...” 

It’s the look that passes between Eskel and Lambert that slams Jaskier’s racing thoughts to a halt, everything De Luca had carefully explained arranging itself into one startling fact: Geralt may not regain function below the waist. 

Without the use of his legs Geralt would be a shell of himself. 

And shells wither away.

_There’s been an accident._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to ask where this ranges on the Flangst Meter but I also think you lovely readers will just snap it in half and shank me with it. Which I'm not saying I don't deserve.
> 
> Huge thank you for all your comments! They have made my week glorious and me a lot less anxious about posting this arc.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Should be dead_ eating away at his thoughts and Jaskier desperately needs to see Geralt, needs to feel him alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to the loveliest of readers! I can't thank you all enough for such wonderful comments!  
> And a huge thank you to VeritasRose for betaing!

The already cool hospital bites at his freshly washed face as Jaskier steps back into the hall, skin damp from where he’d scrubbed the tears away. He wouldn’t cry. Not until there was something to cry about. 

Pointedly ignoring the private rooms they had just been, Jaskier heads back to the waiting room, back to his family. 

His return draws Lambert’s attention from where he’s pacing. “Eskel went to get coffee.” He grumbles, each having made their own excuses to take the news the doctor had given them and swallow it down however they could. 

Jaskier nods, having no doubt neither of them would be straying anytime soon, half wondering when Triss and Yennefer would make it back, if he’d missed the schedule being worked out. The waiting room is as empty as when they left it, chairs pressed against the three walls with a small island of them in the center back to back, but the occupied one draws his attention. 

A jacket he would know anywhere is draped over a chair, lumpy from the contents it conceals. Jaskier can’t take his eyes off it, an irrational part of him believing it’s the only thing tethering Geralt to this world. Maybe it is, it’s seen him through things long before he met Jaskier.

The closer he gets the more details Jaskier is forced to accept. The back little more than tatters, the letters the only thing keeping the upper portion together on the left side. With shaking hands Jaskier picks up the jacket, the weight that had startled him the first time Geralt had handed it to him is gone, shreds scattered out on Route 10. 

“Jaskier–” Lambert’s tone speaks of warning but it comes too late, beneath the jacket is the ruin of Geralt’s helmet. The white wolf looks rabid, bits and chunks missing, the crown scraped down to a dull gray, the soft patter of gravel being knocked loose falls on deaf ears. 

“He’s lucky to be alive with that kind of damage.” The reassurance more than his overwrought body can withstand.

The barking pain in his knees brings Jaskier back to himself, Geralt’s jacket, having slipped from limp fingers, is pooled on the ground next to him. There’s an argument around him if the hiss of voices is any indication but Jaskier can’t hear over the roar in his ears as he tries to make sense of what he’s seeing, taking too many blinks before he understands how his breaking inside is now showing on the outside. 

Jaskier’s stomach lurches but he can’t tear his gaze from his reflection in Geralt’s helmet, the cracked visor scuffed from its normal sheen. Jaskier’s reflection bows its head, orange juice burning and gummy hunks of muffin clogging his throat, choking him as he curls over himself. 

Strong hands are urging him up, or back, Jaskier can’t tell, all he can see is Geralt’s ruined helmet. _Should be dead,_ eating away at his thoughts and Jaskier desperately needs to see Geralt, needs to feel him alive.

“Jaskier, look at me. Shit, 'Skel.” There’s a hand splayed over his chest, pressing so hard his heart fights for every beat, would push him over if it weren’t for the other wrapped tight around his arm, bruising in their grip. The bark a plea as Lambert looks at Eskel. “Call a nurse?” 

Jaskier can’t hear the answer over the thundering of his heart, each beat hurting and threatening to be too much as it struggles to fight through its truth. _There’s been an accident._

o~O~o

“Need anything?” Jaskier turns toward the sound of Eskel’s question, his eyes dragging seconds behind from the conspicuously empty chair; Geralt’s helmet and jacket having been stashed by Lambert some time ago. 

“No, I’m fine.” Jaskier blinks so slowly he sees his eyelashes, watches Eskel’s guilt grow a little more, the debate of having him checked out flaring again as he catches the smallest of stutters in Lambert’s step. None of this is fine, none of _them_ are fine. 

Jaskier is dead tired, the rush of fear that had kept him going since Yennefer showed up has long since faded and losing the meager contents of his stomach haven’t helped matters. His head is swimming and his limbs are heavy but Geralt is still in surgery and he wasn’t about to be admitted himself, much to Eskel and Lambert’s concern.

“I’m going to get you a jar like Ciri has but you have to pay into it every time you say you’re fine.” Triss’ teasing tone is as wavering as the smile she offers when Jaskier turns to her, not having noticed her approach. She’s in leggings and a hoodie Jaskier’s seen Eskel wear, her hair hastily pulled back in a messy bun. She looks as though all the sleep she managed to get amounted to nothing, dark smudges under her eyes giving her away. 

“And what would you do with the money?” Jaskier appreciates her attempt. 

“Hm...take you to lunch.” Her smile is wry and he frowns at her though there’s no heat to it. She would do such a thing but it would be gentle and she wouldn’t push and he likes to think it would be nice. 

As it is, she settles in the seat next to him, the over-sized boho bag she carries slipping down her arm as she manages the cup carrier and the bags she’s carrying. 

“Yenn said she’ll be in as soon as she can. She’s got Ciri with her and they’re headed to the Wolf, needed to get the numbers for the vendors.” Jaskier isn’t sure if Triss says this for his benefit or Eskel and Lambert but he nods anyway, not having considered what this would mean for the bar, how many things would need to be rearranged until...the thought threatens to end there but Jaskier makes himself finish it out because Geralt _would_ be returning to the White Wolf. 

“Heathen’s brew for you two.” Triss says, carefully plucking two coffees from the cardboard carrier and handing them to Eskel and Lambert, explaining when Jaskier follows their dispersement with a raised eyebrow. “Black and strong enough only the damned would dare ingest it.” 

The small laugh this earns from Jaskier brightens Triss as though it’s the thing she’s been waiting to hear. She studies the two remaining cups before selecting one and offering it to Jaskier who hates to take the smile from her but his tender stomach twists at the thought of coffee. 

“Hot chocolate, ok? I also have tea if you…” Triss starts, moving to exchange cups but Jaskier gently closes his hand over hers. “That’s perfect, thank you.” The smile is back and she slips her fingers from his, quickly unrolling the top of one of the bags in her lap as though she has to seize the moment before it passes.

Jaskier sips the drink, the liquid rich and warm and comforting in its familiarity as Triss rifles through the bag, seeming dissatisfied with her findings. Finally she produces a parcel the size of a fist wrapped in crisp white parchment paper, _ECB_ scribbled across the top explaining exactly nothing about its contents or purpose to Jaskier. 

“Thought you could use some breakfast. Just an egg and cheese biscuit, but if that’s too heavy I can get you something else. Fruit or–”

“No, that’s...it’s good. Thank you, Triss.” The words come easy, brief moments of forgetting just why they’re here make Jaskier’s fingers clumsy as he holds the sandwich, knowing he should eat it but unable to force himself through the actions. 

Lambert easily accepts the bag Triss passes off to him, finally bringing an end to his caged pacing as he claims the seat on the other side of Eskel, tucking into his own breakfast with efficiency. Eskel turns from Lambert when a bag is plopped into his own lap, features tightening with concern when he notices Jaskier has yet to start on his.

Triss wastes no time in dragging one of the chairs from the island cluster closer, setting her own coffee on it she plucks Jaskier’s cup from his hand and settles it next to hers, effectively relieving him of his excuse. 

The silence threatens to be deafening, Jaskier taking his time unfolding the sandwich, still warm in his hands, as he turns over the words Dr. De Luca said, trying to align them in a way he can share them with her. 

“He used to make us these for breakfast every morning. Except we weren’t allowed to use the oven part of the stove so we had them on toast instead of biscuits.” Jaskier looks over at Triss’ words to find she has a sandwich identical to his own, fingers rifling the edges like it were a deck of cards. 

“That seems...odd.” Jaskier says slowly, trying to understand but something in her tone warns him of accidentally prying.

A small smile quirks her lips. “Guess they thought it would be harder for us to burn down the house. And Geralt never could handle cereal not after–” She catches herself, replacing the words with a bite that looks painful to chew.

“His parents.” Jaskier finishes, surprised relief flashing across Triss’ face quickly followed by guilt. Geralt wasn’t open about his biological family or lack thereof but he would explain certain _issues_ he had, such as why he never ate cereal after having survived off it under his mother’s negligent care. 

“That family was nice but they had so many kids to feed and cereal can come pretty cheap…” Triss shrugs, picking at her sandwich more than eating it. Jaskier had the distinct displeasure of knowing Triss’ memories were filtered through Geralt, the little he’d told Jaskier about was enough to know Geralt often placed himself between the harsh realities and Triss. 

“But you were old enough to be trusted with a stove–” Triss’ brow furrows at his words. “You _were_ old enough?” 

“We could see over it, well, _he_ could. He always got me a stool so I could reach the toaster.” Triss smiles softly at the memory, blinking back the tears that glass her eyes, missing Jaskier’s breath catch as he pictures Ciri, all of seven standing on a stool so she’s tall enough to reach the counter.

Geralt had told Jaskier he was in foster care for most of his life and that’s where he’d met Triss but he’d never mentioned how old he was when he went in, a fact that settles cold in Jaskier. 

“I didn’t…” Jaskier starts, not sure how he intends to finish it but he’s started and Triss is looking at him expectantly. “He never mentioned you.” Triss makes an affronted noise that has Jaskier hurrying on. “Well he _mentioned_ you just not...it’s not his history to share.” 

Triss turns these words over with a bite, nudging Jaskier who hesitantly starts on his own sandwich, the first nibble settling well making him braver. 

“I was convinced I was going to marry him.” Triss starts, that same one-sided smile directed at her sandwich again, the words falling into her lap. “I don’t know what it was but I’d latched onto him the day I arrived at the house, I think it had to be all that hair, a little girl’s dream to play with.” 

There’s a snort from Lambert but it doesn’t deter Triss from her musings. “But then, I don’t know, he put up with me and I just...he was always there. He’d walked me to school even though it’d make him late when he went to the middle school and I was still in the elementary building.”

Triss takes a shuddering breath and Jaskier knows this feeling, the words that need to get out, that she has no hope of stopping no matter how much she thinks she should. “I threw such a fit when they tried to send me back to the group home. They wanted to keep him,” Triss’ lips purse, the next words souring before she even says them. “He was _useful_. And he just stood there while I snotted all over him, gasping as I clung to him and told them _no_ like it was the most obvious thing in the world.” 

“That sounds like him.” Jaskier chokes out, imagining a small version of Geralt as he is now, that same flat look he gets that brokers no argument. 

“Yeah.” Triss gives him a look that Jaskier understands too well, that for all of Geralt’s bravado and keeping them together, it cost them; a price Triss would pay over again for all that it brought them. 

With a shake of her head the quirk to her lips returns and she glances sideways at Jaskier. “I told him I was going to marry him one day.” 

Jaskier chokes on his mouthful as Lambert snorts, Eskel’s silence suggesting he’s already aware of this declaration. “Does that make me a homewrecker?” 

Triss laughs, swiping away tears they all pretend is from mirth. “He went along with it for quite a while. It was when I got in a fight with Tommy Reed for calling Geralt a fag that he told me.” 

“ _You_ got in a fight.” Jaskier knows that’s not the important part of the story, that Geralt hadn’t told him how he’d come out but Jaskier can’t align sweet, bohemian Triss with the concept of fighting. 

“That was my future husband they were insulting.” Her smile wavers even as she continues. “He felt terrible that I got into a fight for the wrong reasons, which to him meant because he hadn’t told me and thought that if I’d known I wouldn’t have started fighting.” 

Jaskier shakes his head, it seems Geralt’s misplaced sense of worth wasn’t new. “You would have fought _harder_.” Jaskier says.

“Exactly.” Triss swallows hard. “We...people thought I was his girlfriend and we just...let them.” She shoots a guilty look at Jaskier. “I know it wasn’t right but it just...made things easier and…” A sob slips free, her shoulders hunching. Jaskier wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side as tears start down her face.

“He...he apologized he couldn’t marry me but promised he’d walk me down the aisle when the day came.” Triss claps a hand over her mouth, muffling the cries.

“He will. He’s going to hate and love every minute that he’s in that suit but he’ll walk you down that aisle.” Jaskier assures her, rubbing her arm and realizing for the first time that he believes them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this wasn't nearly as bad as the last two chapters, right? A bit of tempering with some tender backstory of young Geralt and Triss. AND! It even ended on a happy adjacent note.  
> And yes, I _did_ limber up before going for that stretch that this was fluff.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second before she speaks stretches out to forever contained in a single heartbeat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back lovely readers! I am just so grateful that you're here. I also can't thank you enough for the thoughtful comments and I'm so glad you're liking Geralt's backstory, I have more tucked in future chapters.
> 
> Huge thank you to VeritasRose for betaing!

The next time Dr. De Luca appears Jaskier can’t bring himself to rise. Triss’ hand giving a reassuring squeeze in response to his spasmed grip. 

Jaskier studies the doctor’s face but years of approaching patients has her features schooled into a careful mask that gives nothing away. Lambert and Eskel stay sitting in solidarity, De Luca doesn’t falter at having to come to them, stopping short she drags a chair from the center cluster and sets it before them.

The second before she speaks stretches out to forever contained in a single heartbeat. 

“He’s out of surgery.” Relief courses through Jaskier before the words fully settle. Yes, Geralt was out of surgery but that was all. “You can see him now but you need to understand his wounds were severe and there’s going to be a lot of wires and machines hooked up to him.” 

Jaskier nods, memories of his mom flashing before his eyes, the months dragging past brought only more machines tethering her to life. Jaskier shakes his head, trying to clear the thoughts but only earns a small frown from De Luca. “I understand.” 

The doctor studies Jaskier for a moment longer, but the duty to explain presses her on. “We made an incision in his abdomen and hip so we could repair hip fracture and punctured lung. It also allowed us access to remove the shards of bone compressing his spinal cord.” De Luca pauses, giving them a chance to take this in. 

“Like I said, you can see him, but he won’t be awake, we’ve placed him in a medically induced coma. This is just to keep him comfortable and so he doesn’t move and injure himself further while we wait for the swelling to go down.” She waits again, knowing questions are forming.

“The swelling. You said he...he uh–” Jaskier can’t get the words out, the update from earlier tangling with the new information and it’s not even all of it yet.

“The next twenty-four hours are critical. We’ll keep him closely monitored and should he still be stable we’ll ease him off sedation and check his reflexes.”

“To see if...you said a second surgery?” Jaskier chokes out.

“His vertebrae will most likely need to be fused to prevent collapse. We’re waiting for the swelling to go down.” De Luca pronounces these words carefully, all too familiar with the spark of hope she sees in the families’ eyes, the one that it is now her job to quell.

“Twenty-four hours.” Jaskier chokes out, unable to process beyond that right now. Get him through the next day and they could handle anything.

“You need to understand that just because there is sensation doesn’t mean he’ll regain full function. Damage was done to his L-3. Anytime there’s trauma to the spine we’re concerned with neurological injury.” De Luca had mentioned this yesterday or was it earlier today? Time has lost its importance to Jaskier but the words sound familiar and he’s certain she’s explained this already but he has no recollection and forces himself to learn it like lyrics now.

“Neurological injury ranges from complete to incomplete.” De Luca reports with a calm professionalism meant to be reassuring but rarely is.

Jaskier makes a strangled noise, Eskel squeezing his knee before voicing the question he couldn’t. “What does that spectrum look like?”

De Luca shifts her gaze from Jaskier to her patient’s brother, beginning to understand the support system at work. “Some loss of sensation below the injury isn’t uncommon, which means he could see a reduction in strength and reflexes. It’s also not unusual for patients with this injury to suffer from a loss of bladder and bowel control.” The brothers take it with little more than a tightening of their mouths, Triss claping a hand over hers, stifles the sobs that threaten, Jaskier just nods absently along, hearing but not accepting, not yet.

“We’ve removed the shards which will help relieve the pressure on the spinal cord. That, with the heavy sedation, will allow his body time to heal and we’ll do the second surgery which will help stabilize the area.” De Luca wishes she could reassure them, tell them that it’s more daunting than it sounds but she had just spent hours carefully picking fragments of bone from her patient's spinal column. It was as harrowing as it sounded.

“Thank you.” Jaskier rasps out, his breaths carefully measured. Jaskier turns towards Eskel and Lambert, “Twenty four hours.” 

They nod, some silent support De Luca doesn’t understand but it seems to calm her patient’s partner. 

“Just make it through those and we can discuss the next steps then. Would you like to see him now?” De Luca knows this is the thing they’ve wanted from the start but it’s important for families to have some understanding of what they’re walking into before they see their loved one and are too overwhelmed with what they’re seeing to understand what’s being said.

“He’ll be fine, Jaskier.” Eskel reassures as they stand, Lambert beside him resolutely nodding. “He has us.” 

The hallway is familiar, the private discussion rooms and bathrooms as far as they’d ventured up to this point but De Luca strides past them and Jaskier tries to ignore how inviting the discussion room looks this time around.

The nurse’s station acts as the hub of a wheel, no patient’s room more than six feet from the desk in any direction, pulled curtains providing the illusion of privacy against glass walls. 

De Luca stops outside Room 4005, the door is open, no amount of noise wakes Geralt from his induced slumber and with a murmured note to let her know if they have any questions she steps away, leaving them to enter when they’re ready.

Triss slips past Jaskier, towing Eskel who refuses to be the one to pull from her grasp. Jaskier numbly follows, his eyes trailing over the seemingly endless tubes and wires tethering Geralt, who looks _small_. 

Geralt is on his back in the bed, mouth forcibly parted around the tube that hisses in time with the rise and fall of his chest. The harsh lighting only serves to darken the mottled bruising across Geralt’s face from where his visor cracked, the only thing giving him color.

_Geralt_ looks small.

The realization arrests Jaskier, his heart stuttering as months of memories flash past.

...Geralt looming over Valdo....

...crouching before him at the trunk or treat…

...the reassuring smiles while grocery shopping….

“-kier. Breathe. With me. Focus on me.” Jaskier can barely hear the words over his ragged breaths, only now realizing he can no longer see Geralt, just the many tubes and wires growing from the bed. Eskel and Triss keep their distance, clearly fighting the urge to join him on the floor, a place he has no recollection of moving to. 

“ _Jaskier_.” His name is a command that draws his attention back to himself, to the strong arms keeping him from doubling over. “Follow my breaths.” 

The chest against his back is unfamiliar. All hard planes and none of the softness of Geralt, but the breathing is steady and easy enough to follow.

“Five things you can see.” The words are growled in his ear but there’s no bite to them.

“Tuh–Triss.”

“Thats _one_.” The _keep going_ silent.

“Eskel. The buh–bed. Wires. Geralt.” The words jump in their cadence but no one calls him on the lie.

“Good. Now four things you can feel.” 

_Pain_. But Jaskier knows that’s not what Lambert means. “Floor. My shirt. The chair. You.” The latter earns a huff from Lambert but no lascivious comment follows. Though tremors still wrack Jaskier’s body his breaths come easier. Lambert eases him up as he stands, keeping a supporting hand under his arm. 

“Thank you.” Jaskier murmurs, ducking his head as his cheeks burn with shame. The urge to retreat is nearly overwhelming, but Geralt is here and even if he can’t be what he needs he won’t leave him, however selfish that may be. “Sorry–” 

“Don’t.” This time there is a bite to Lambert’s growl. “There’s no shame in ‘em.” Lambert doesn’t look like he fully believes the words himself but his gaze is steady as he stands behind them. 

Eskel is giving Lambert a look Jaskier can’t quite read but tears his gaze away and looks at Jaskier. “I had one during Geralt’s first bad accident.” Guilt flashes across Lambert’s face as he shifts next to Jaskier, Triss leaning harder into Eskel as though to lend support.

“Don’t. You were on tour and would have been here if you could.” The words sound worn, like they’ve been offered again and again. “There’s no shame in it. This is the first time you’ve seen him like this." The implication threatens to bring Jaskier to his knees

“He’s going to be fine.” Triss says with such conviction it leaves no room for argument as she moves closer to the bed. One arm stretched, still tethered to Eskel by their clasped hands, the other she threads into Geralt’s, smiling softly at him as though he isn’t nearly as pale as the sheets. “Just fine.” 

Her words draw Jaskier closer, this side’s hand lost to the many wires and tubes snaking from it, all now required to monitor the damage within. Jaskier’s hand twitches, needing to touch him but there’s so little skin that isn’t bandaged or bruised. 

Silent tears track down Jaskier’s face, dripping onto the bed before Geralt’s fingers as though even they dare not touch for fear of hurting him. With a shuddering breath Jaskier reminds himself, it’s just twenty-four hours.

o~O~o

Jaskier catches himself folding his clothes, the soft pants and shirt he’d slept in neatly folded before him, exchanged for a pair of jeans and one of his own shirts, his hoodie on the counter waiting to ward off the chill that permeates hospitals. Yennefer had called ahead and asked if they needed anything and in a fit of pliability Jaskier had nodded along when Triss suggested Yennefer get him a change of clothes. He’d startled Triss when he’d snapped to awareness nearly fifteen minutes later, scrabbling for a phone that was still on his dresser before she’d pressed hers into his hands, calming him.

Jamming his pajamas into the bag he eyes his reflection, dark smudges under his eyes that match the shade darkening Geralt’s own features. His already softer features puffy from hours of tears that start and stop of their own accord, threatening to start again at the running countdown Jaskier won’t allow himself to be distracted from.

Twenty-one hours and thirty nine minutes. 

Back in the waiting room Yennefer silently passes Jaskier his carefully guarded satchel, taking the bag of dirty clothes from him and making them disappear like a magic trick. He doesn’t need to check inside, can feel its weight burning through, a security in its proximity.

“Ciri?” Deep down Jaskier wants to know, feels the concern for her lingering somewhere far underneath the numbed pain that permeates his consciousness. 

“She’s ok. She’s with the sitter.” Yennefer smiles tightly, weighing the next words against the tears she’s fighting. “I didn’t...just until we _know_ cause she’d want to see him and–” Yennefer breaks off with a strangled cry, hand clapping to her mouth as her head drops in shame.

Jaskier smooths his hand across her back in what he hopes is a comforting manner. “That’s what he’d want. You know how much he worries about her. Remember when he tried to hide his cold from her?” 

This earns a wet laugh from Yennefer as she swipes at her eyes and Jaskier realizes this is the first time he’s seen her without make-up. “She insisted I drive her over so that she could bring him soup and read to him.” Because that’s what he did for her when she wasn’t feeling well. They lapse into silence, taking a reprieve in the memory of Ciri pressed close to a blanket wrapped Geralt, listening with rapt attention as they sat on the couch, Ciri reading to him from her chapter book.

It feels wrong, this moment of happiness, of forgetting that Geralt was laying just down the hall, causing the memory to sour as Jaskier’s hand slips from Yennefer’s back.

As though Destiny was watching particularly closely, Triss reappears, arms laden with food Jaskier has no interest in but knows will be forced upon him. With the bitter shame still lingering at having so readily turned his thoughts from Geralt, Jaskier fails at hiding the disappointment her return brings. 

Though it’s only been a few hours since Triss appeared with breakfast she’d insisted they needed snacks, Jaskier easily seeing through her thinly veiled attempt at plying him with sustenance. As though he can will her to forget about his existence, Jaskier resolutely keeps his gaze focused on the hall where the nurse will come from to tell him he’s allowed back in Geralt’s room.

“-what flavor you’d want so I got a couple different ones.” Jaskier hears her questions, senses her taking the seat between him and Eskel, but still stubbornly refuses to acknowledge her question. 

“Jaskier,” It’s the tone of her voice that finally earns his attention, just this side of breaking, a plea for her, not for him. “ _Please_. I know you don’t _want_ to, now more than you’ve ever not wanted to, but you _need_ to. I...Geralt,” Triss twists the worn hoodie cuff between her fingers, permanently marking it.

“He...I _know_ you need to eat. It’s part of your…” Triss is twisting the hoodie cuff so hard Jaskier is certain she’ll tear it, taking a moment for the words to fully sink in. She knew he needed to eat again so soon because of his meal plan, because– 

“He was so worried about you and...we _all_ were and then when you started asking for things that sounded good he was so happy and...I’m sorry. I don’t...and he wouldn’t have–he just…” Triss’ words trip over themselves, Jaskier recognizing the shame filling him to be misplaced gently pulls her fingers from worrying the cuff.

“Thank you, Triss.” Watery blue eyes meet his, finding only understanding there. With a shuddering breath she swipes her eyes with her other hand, splaying open the bag in her lap and revealing several flavors of yogurt and various cups of fresh fruit. 

Jaskier blindly selects one of each, knowing he won’t really taste it so it doesn’t matter. Balancing the cup of fruit on his knee, Jaskier pops the lid off the yogurt, barely getting two bites in before the kind nurse who had politely asked him to leave while they checked his catheter is approaching.

“Whenever you’re ready hun, we’re all finished.” She smiles politely before turning and heading back the way she’d come, Triss and Yennefer’s gentle hands on his arms keeping him from following her directly. 

“You _need_ to eat. He’ll be fine for a few minutes.” Yennefer uses her mom tone which usually puts Jaskier into place but currently has little effect. 

As though sensing the impending struggle, Eskel unfolds from his seat, the hours of sitting on in stiff chairs seeming to have no effect on him. “I’ll sit with him.” The statement leaves no room for protest, the order clear in the words, that Geralt would not be pleased if Jaskier skipped eating just to sit and worry _near_ him. 

Jaskier doesn’t take the time he knows he should, the yogurt going down in painful swallows that allow no time for taste, slowing on the fruit when a cramp tightens his belly and he realizes how he must look, shoveling food in as fast as he can. 

The fruit cup is little more than a few fruits chopped into small chunks but Jaskier forces himself to count out the moments between bites, replay previous conversations as a means of timing them. When both containers are empty and an unsettling fullness is the only thing threatening to keep him in his seat, Jaskier thanks Triss again, collects his satchel and stands. 

The tightness in his stomach encourages him back into the chair but Jaskier tamps it down, taking measured breaths through his nose as he tries to remind himself it’s just been a rough few hours. Jaskier readjusts his satchel, shifting it from cross-body and the uncomfortable pressure on his belly to off his shoulder, pressing a surreptitious hand to his roiling insides as he passes the bathroom. 

The urge to enter and relinquish Triss’ hard work is tempting but he knows he doesn't want to make them worry that he’s developed a whole other issue and trying to explain stress coupled with Eskel’s errant orange juice is the cause would just make them feel worse. 

Eskel has positioned the heavy recliner on the side of Geralt’s bed that is less cluttered by machines, the side of his body that isn’t tangled with tubes and wires, though he remains standing, hand clasping Geralt’s as Triss had done not long before. Jaskier hovers in the doorway, though the rule allows a couple visitors at a time Jaskier still feels like he’s breaking one. 

Eskel turns to him with a look that Jaskier would swear he'd stolen from Geralt, if he didn’t know Eskel was the older brother and had likely curated the gaze himself. It makes Jaskier feel _seen_ , as though all the bits he’d tucked away have suddenly been dusted off and looked over with the utmost care. 

“Whatever news the doctor brings, he’ll be ok.” Jaskier knows Eskel isn’t even entertaining the idea that Geralt might not make it through the next nineteen hours. No, he means whatever those tests bring, whatever sensation Geralt has or lacks won’t matter because they’ll find a way to keep their brother, their White Wolf. 

With a final fond look Eskel gently returns Geralt’s hand to the bed and all the things Jaskier has been pushing to the back of his mind starts to click into place. Eskel had done this before, multiple times before and here Jaskier was, shoving him aside. 

“You should stay, I can…” Jaskier starts to back towards the door but there’s that look of Geralt’s again, the one that pins Jaskier to the spot. 

Eskel shakes his head, soft eyes sliding over his brother as he says, “You’re here for him.” Turning them on Jaskier he finishes, “And we’re here for you.” With that he makes his way around the bed, easily returning the hug Jaskier envelopes him in, holding him a moment longer after Jaskier breathes out a soft, “Thank you.” 

Jaskier lingers at the foot of Geralt’s bed, knowing Eskel arranged the chair so he could be close and comfortable, a silent nod of understanding that Jaskier was here for the long haul but it still feels so wrong. Geralt is nearly as pale as his hair, his abdomen and leg unnaturally bulky under the covers from where they’ve carefully bandaged him. 

With a shake of his head Jaskier forces himself to move to the chair, his eyes never straying from Geralt. 

“I…” Jaskier starts, knowing how foolish it sounds in his head means it will sound that much more foolish aloud but he says it because he started and Geralt always worried when he fell quiet. “They say that coma patients can hear what’s going on around them. Though the authoritative They might be doctor’s on television.” 

Jaskier waits for Geralt’s half-amused _hmm_ , but when it doesn’t come his breath hitches. “We’ve got some time and while I know you’re certain I would have no problem filling that time I thought maybe we could…” Jaskier flips open his satchel, pulling out the book he’d frantically begged Yennefer to retrieve. 

Dropping his satchel to the floor Jaskier settles into the recliner, Eskel having angled it so Jaskier can easily keep his hand on Geralt’s, the book held open in his other hand, he begins to read. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Fluffdar is skewed according to lovely readers, I mean you're not _worng_ , but I'm going to hazard a reading and it looks like it's pointing to the end bit of the chapter. That was fluff? Fluff adjacent? Angst that dreams of growing up to be fluff one day?
> 
> I hope everyone has safe, fun holidays! And I have a _fluffy_ quote picked out from the next chapter to put up on the Tumbles on Friday. Find me [Link @process-pending](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/process-pending)


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Geralt wouldn’t want you here.” Jaskier rocks back as though he’s been physically struck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! I hope you all had a wonderful holiday!  
> I can't thank you enough for reading and the thoughtful comments you've left!  
> And a huge thank you to VeritasRose for betaing!

Jaskier had always found comfort in numbers. 

The four freckles under his mom’s left eye like a constellation. 

The unchanging frets no matter what guitar he picked up. 

The beats to music counted out by his soul. 

And today, the minutes left until Geralt would be welcomed back to the world. 

But those hours, measured out in minutes, stretched into a daunting number that made Jaskier’s insides quiver with how slowly they dwindled, hours having to pass before the minutes numbered under a thousand. 

So Jaskier counted pages instead, letting his mind fall into the absent rhythm of counting out words as he read, counting the pages between chapters instead of the minutes left. 

The book ends, Jaskier’s mind quick to the math of how many pages it’s been warring against how many minutes left until Geralt wakes. Jaskier takes a shuddering breath as he risks a glance at Geralt, “From the top?” 

Back to the beginning, reading out the words Geralt had spun into a world for Jaskier to get lost in. One that had monsters and men and flawed heroes, one they could relate to where they knew things worked out in the eventual end. 

“Hey.” Yennefer’s voice draws Jaskier’s attention from the book to where she’s lingering in the doorway but he has no way of knowing how long she’s been there. 

“Hey.” The words are quiet, nearly hushed by the hiss of Geralt’s ventilator. Jaskier keeps his place in the book with a finger between the pages, these check-ins not uncommon, usually accompanied by a drink or snack. 

Jaskier waits, unsure what to say, for so long now the only words filling his mind were from the pages before him but now that they’re shut he finds an unsettling void.

“Did you want…” Jaskier starts to rise, he would give her the chair, but not the room.

Yennefer waves him down but frowns at the whisper thin words. “Can I get you anything?”

“We’re good.” Yennefer sees more than hears the words, Jaskier’s hand stroking Geralt's arm as he gives him a soft smile.

“Jaskier,” Yennefer’s voice is tight with a fear she doesn’t want to accept. “What...what are you reading?” 

If Jaskier finds the seemingly random question odd he doesn’t let it show, just twists the book around so she can see the cover. “You know Geralt and his fantasy, Ciri may have to wait a few years for this one though.” Jaskier jokes, Ciri is all too happy to inform her Pama of what she’s read lately, having taken her preference in genre from him.

Yennefer forces a smile and nod, her throat closing as she understands Jaskier isn’t keeping his voice low for Geralt’s benefit, out of that sense of being in a hospital and hushing your tone. He’s been reading aloud for hours and his voice is all but gone, little more than a rasping whisper. 

And there’s hours yet to go. 

Yennefer doesn’t flee, at least that’s what she tells herself with every step that carries her away from Jaskier. 

o~O~o

The next visitor Jaskier becomes aware of is Eskel. It takes only the span of a few pages before he appears, his presence in the door more noticeable than Yennefer’s and draws Jaskier’s attention as soon as it arrives.

“Eskel.” Jaskier greets, nodding, but the look on Eskel’s face is unreadable as he takes in the scene before him. There’s something in the way he moves to the other side of Geralt’s bed that has Jaskeir shutting the book properly

“I’m going to go home for a few hours. Get some sleep.” Jaskier nods along. “Triss, Lambert and Yennefer are staying here.” 

“It’s ok, you’ve been here for hours. We’ll let you know if anything changes.” Jaskier rasps, Eskel’s eyes narrowing, expression growing stonier with every word.

“Jaskier.” His name has rarely ever sounded so defeated. “ _You_ should–” 

“No.” Jaskier cuts him off, only realizing he’s risen when Eskel’s features aren’t shadowed by the bed light. “No. I can’t…” Jaskier’s fingers curl around Geralt’s hand, the once able fingers now as vulnerable as the rest of him. 

Eskel takes in the scene before him, the quiet determination, remembering it wasn’t too long ago that Jaskier couldn’t stand up to them, resolve crumbling when they refused to leave. There’s none of that passive acceptance now. 

Eskel rolls the words around his mouth, hating them before he’s even said them and more for their need to be voiced at all, his only hope is that Geralt stays in this world long enough his actions don’t cost Jaskier precious time.

“Geralt wouldn’t want you here.” Jaskier rocks back as though he’s been physically struck. His hold tightening on Geralt, his expression hardening as he steels himself against a man once trusted.

“Jaskier–” Eskel starts, continuing over Jaskier’s protests, realizing this must have been how Geralt felt at his housewarming, only now he’s not giving him back his words.

"Geralt wouldn’t want _this_. He would want you to take care of yourself.”

“I’m _fine_.” The words, a barely audible rasp, are only heard because Eskel pauses, letting Jaskier prove his point.

When Yennefer had returned, tears brimming in her eyes she could barely explain that she couldn’t hear Jaskier, repeating the words over and over, growing more emphatic with each misunderstanding. Eskel was the first to make the connection, recalling finding Jaskier reading the last time he checked... _hours_ previous. He hadn’t wanted to believe he’d spent that time reading, hadn’t wanted to shoulder more guilt but they had allowed him to suffer as they all watched once again.

“You know he’ll want you when he wakes but it will only stress him if he hears you as you are. If you wear yourself down you’re no good to him.” Eskel has rarely loathed himself more than he does in this moment.

Jaskier’s gaze drops from his, tracing the relaxed lines of Geralt’s face, expression softening. Eskel waits, quietly willing Jaskier to understand. 

With gentle fingers Jaskier’s hand ghosts over the unbruised side of Geralt’s face before he’s leaning down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. The soft _I love you_ and vow to return carried away by the ventilator. 

o~O~o

The car ride is silent.

Made all the more tense because Eskel doesn’t know if Jaskier would talk to him even if he could.

With each mile closer, Eskel tries to decide if _he_ needs Jaskier to understand or if _Jaskier_ needs to realize they haven’t turned against him.

He’s no closer to a decision when he comes to a stop in front of their house but he knows he needs to say _this_. “Just a few hours rest, It’s not that we don’t want you there.” 

“I know.” The surprise so earnest it pulls Eskel’s scar as he turns to look at Jaskier. Eskel has no response, all that he’d practiced had been little more than apologies wrapped in explanations. But Jaskier understood and didn’t seem to expect an apology.

“What I said,” Eskel starts, hating that he’s still seeking absolution, a quelling of the fear that he’s lost the fragile relationship he’s so carefully built with his brother’s partner. 

“Was needed to get me to leave before I could do more damage to Geralt.” Jaskier’s voice has never sounded so hollow but before Eskel can protest Jaskier has left the car, a dropped thanks trapped by the closing car door.

o~O~o

The house feels wrong without Geralt. A different kind of empty brought by the uncertainty of his return.

Jaskier refuses to believe he won’t be returning but the doctor’s words wait for him on the counters that would prove to be too high for Geralt to reach from a wheelchair, let alone the cabinets above. 

More out of habit Jaskier’s feet carried him through to the stairs; stairs Geralt would no longer be able to climb. The smell of hospital having permeated his clothes, encouraging him into the shower but the solace he usually finds there is absent, plagued with thoughts of what the coming months may bring. A stool Geralt can sit on in the shower, modifications to the front steps so he can get into the house.

Jaskier numbly pulls on clothes, noting the need to lower the closet bar so Geralt will be able to reach his own clothes...once he’s able to dress by himself again.

Jaskier isn’t hungry but he finds himself in the kitchen, mind knowing what he needs when his body doesn’t. The pan of parmesan noodles with peas and shaved ham greets him when he opens the fridge, Jaskier having wrapped the leftovers rather than portion them out so he could get Geralt upstairs faster. 

The container feels heavier than it has any right to as Jaskier slides it from the shelf, not bothering with a plate he carries it to the table and digs in. Mind turning to the last time they’d sat here, trying to remember what they’d talked about but his memory keeps jumping to random bits, not properly kept as he didn’t expect a need to remember on his own.

Mentions of Ciri so excited for the pool trail into Geralt noting Triss’ latest endeavor in social media before doubling back about a date set for the work to begin on the pool. Something Jaskier knows he should be worried about but can’t bring himself to care.

Freed to his mind, Jaskier’s thoughts start spinning, he’d yet to call work and what of the White Wolf? Jaskier knew how important it was to Geralt but he didn’t know the first thing about the endless paperwork Geralt managed. Jaskier silently curses himself for never asking before, never offering to help in all those weeks he did little more than sit on the couch and grow fatter.

A sharp pain startles the fork from Jaskier’s fingers, clattering against the mostly empty dish. His stomach feels tight and heavy, shame and fear churning the food inside. 

With disgust Jaskier rises from the table, a voice that’s not plagued him for months sneering _What would Geralt think_?

The words sound with every step Jaskier takes as he flees the kitchen, hand pressed to his stomach as though to ease the pain but it only serves a reminder of his weakness. Humiliation burns his cheeks as he drags Geralt’s incredibly soft blanket from the back of the couch, pulling it around his shoulders he wraps his arms around his stomach as he continues up the stairs. 

The bed feels too big without Geralt though Jaskier can’t bring himself to lay on his side of the bed, Geralt will be home soon and there’s no reason to seek that comfort. Staying on his side he presses close to Geralt’s pillow and breathes in his familiar scent, hating that his own is mixed from so many nights tucked into Geralt’s side. 

Closing his eyes, Jaskier wills his mind to believe he’s not wrapped tight in Geralt’s blanket but his arms, the place that makes the world safe and quiet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I _swear_ the 24 hour wait is drawing to an end, we're just all sailing on that glacier we were on in BatS towards it.  
> But at least there's family...angst and Jaskier...ok I'm gonna stop on the Offering Reassurances train cause I think I'm so far behind I lapped myself.  
> 😅


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The silence on the other end lasts no longer than the span between heartbeats but Jaskier’s doesn’t dare continue until it knows if it’s worth it to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Passes out confetti_ You, lovely readers, are going to be needing this I think.  
> Welcome back! I can't thank you enough for all your lovely comments. They really do brighten my days.  
> And a big thank you to VeritasRose for betaing!

Jaskier’s phone chirping wakes him, the plaintive cries of its impending death, battery at a depleting five percent. Plugging it in rewards Jaskier with a slew of messages, hourly updates each reporting Geralt is fine.

There’s also a message from Yennefer offering to pick him up whenever he’s ready to return to the hospital, the ride wrapped in an excuse about needing a break.

Jaskier wants to answer immediately, tell her there’s no need, he’ll drive himself in, but he knows he’s barely been home long enough they might not protest. With shaky breaths Jaskier smooths his hand over Geralt’s side of the bed, where he’s been every morning since Jaskier moved in until today. 

_I want to spend the rest of my mornings waking up to you._

The thought sends Jaskier scrambling from bed. He needs out. _Now_.

Snatching up his phone Jaskier thumbs to Yennefer’s message, the response taking longer to type as he has to correct and recorrect it before it’s not something that will have them suggesting he just stay home. He’s in the closet, halfway into a clean pair of stretch jeans when his phone rings.

Jaskier trips in his haste to reach it, yanking the phone free from its charging cord as he swipes _Answer_ and slaps it to his ear. “What happened?”

The silence on the other end lasts no longer than the span between heartbeats but Jaskier’s doesn’t dare continue until it knows if it’s worth it to.

“He’s fine. Geralt’s fine. No changes.” Yennefer’s words are quick, seeming to realize the panic she had inadvertently caused. Jaskier crumples to the floor, hand pressed to his thundering chest as he wills his breathing to slow. Yennefer’s distant voice calls his name as Jaskier’s numb fingers fumble to gather the phone from the floor before he manages to press it to his ear again. 

“I’m here.” Jaskier hopes she doesn’t hear the strain in his voice but the long pause is telling.

“I was going to come pick you up.” Jaskier knows she’s resisting the urge to ask if he’s ok, knowing the answer he’ll give. There’s no question, just a statement, making it harder for him to deny when his mind can’t move past, ‘Geralt’s fine’.

He nods but she can’t see it and so he forces out a soft, “Ok.” 

She says something about how long it will take her to get there, asking if he needs more time, but it barely registers with Jaskier. 

Hanging up he goes through the motions plugging his phone back in and getting dressed, eyes carefully averted from the bed and soon finds himself in the kitchen with little recollection of how he got there.

The pan is still on the table from the night before, calling back Eskel’s words, he needs to be better for Geralt. 

With the same absence that found him dressed, Jaskier starts water in the sink, collecting the dishes he’d neglected the night before. Part of him knows this isn’t what Eskel meant, that Geralt wouldn’t care if he came home to dishes but he can’t make himself stop. 

Hunger twists his stomach, demanding acknowledgement of a neglected schedule. Jaskier isn’t sure how much time has passed, Yennefer on her way and getting even closer, the last thing he wants to do is make her stop for food, certain she’ll question if he ate. Leaving the dishes to dry, Jaskier wars with breakfast, finally settling on a smoothie in the hopes its presence will ward them off. 

The front door chimes, Yennefer’s arrival having been masked by the blender. Leaving the smoothie, Jaskier heads for the door, the parallel to That night slowing his steps. By the time he’s stepping into the sun room Jaskier’s breathing is shallow, his pulse thundering in his ears. He knows he needs to let Yennefer in but he can’t bring himself to move, fear weighing his hand.

Jaskier tries to think of anything else, to convince himself that what she’d said on the phone was true. Surely she would have come over if anything had happened–except she _was_ over and–

No.

 _He’d_ responded to her text. 

The argument is cold comfort.

Jaskier knows he’s being foolish, that she’s so politely waiting while he has an internal struggle that they both know the end to. 

“Ok, good thoughts.” Jaskier reminds himself, something Triss had taught Geralt who in turn told him. Closing his eyes Jaskier breathes deep and–

 _Good morning, Jaskier_.

Thanksgiving when he’d boldly kissed Geralt, dashing to the door before he’d rumbled his own greeting. Jaskier had framed this moment in his mind, the soft way Geralt had looked at him with such love and care contained in those three words.

Jaskier opens his eyes, heart steady and with a calm he knows won’t last, opens the door.

Yennefer doesn’t comment on the long minutes she spent waiting outside, just offers a small smile as she looks him over with her knowing mom gaze. 

“Hey, little cub.” She pulls him into the hug they both need, her fingertips digging in painfully but he doesn’t pull back, letting her impress upon him all the things she can’t bring herself to say.

She finally releases him, but only to hold him at arm’s length, finding answers to unspoken questions. 

“Need to grab anything besides your coat?” Jaskier’s mouth quirks at the very mom question even as he nods and heads back into the house. 

Yennefer watches as Jaskier pours the smoothie into his rainbow tumbler, waving off his offer to make her one. He hesitates after rinsing the blender, but Yennefer is here and Geralt is waiting and what’s another neglected dish?

Yennefer holds his tumbler as he darts upstairs, yanking his barely recovered phone free he winds up the charger, unsure when he’ll be home next.

o~O~o

Jaskier lingers in the doorway to Geralt’s room, Triss is curled in the chair next to the bed, only her arm stretched out so she can rest it on Geralt’s hand. She’s so still Jaskier can’t tell if she’s sleeping but with the heightened senses born of their upbringing she knows he’s there.

“He’s missed you.” Triss doesn’t shift as she says the words, drawing Jaskier closer.

“Oh yeah?” He eyes Geralt who looks no different since he saw him hours ago.

“He always does when you’re away.” Her eyes are tired and Jaskier wants nothing more than to gather her into his arms and hold her close but he’s not Geralt and isn’t sure the gesture would be entirely welcome. 

She unfolds with a fluidity that reminds Jaskier of a dancer, relinquishing the watch and continuing even when he protests. “I won’t be far. It’s not like you could keep me away even if you tried.” There’s a threat to the words that makes Jaskier think she isn’t entirely kidding, a strength hidden behind flowing skirts and messy buns.

She circles the bed, snaking her arms in the open jacket she tucks herself around him, her ear pressed to his chest she listens to the steady beat of his heart, breathing in the soft scent of him. Jaskier wraps his arms around her, she feels so small in this moment but he knows she’s anything but. 

Triss eases back, looking at Jaskier with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “He’ll be there, he swore and Geralt is nothing if not a keeper of his word.” Jaskier reminds her. 

She nods as she looks over her shoulder at Geralt with such a longing Jaskier thinks she may return to his side but she’s turning back to him. “If you need anything.” She doesn’t have to finish, the command in the word’s harsh edge. 

“You don’t have to go.” Jaskier is familiar with the cool bite of hospital floors, and has perfected the art of leaning against the wall in such a manner he could do it for hours on end. 

“I do.” Triss murmurs, a hard swallow tucking down the pain that rises. Jaskier thinks to keep her there, the comfort she seeks wasn’t in the waiting room when he’d passed through, probably still at home sleeping. She doesn’t look back, just slips from the room, quiet as ever. 

Jaskier moves to the other side of the bed, setting his tumbler on the small side table he drops his satchel into the chair and shrugs his Witcher jacket off. Having struggled to shoulder it in the first place, the remains of Geralt’s shredded one flashing before his eyes, but he needed the reminder of all it stood for, now more than ever. 

Settling himself in the chair his hands automatically dig in his satchel for their book, setting it on his lap he stares at the cover, unable to open it. There was the barest hint of a rasp to his voice, doubtful the others noticed but when you’ve listened to your voice play over and over trying to get a track just right it’s not hard to note every imperfection. 

Triss had sat quietly so why couldn’t he? Jaskier turns the thought over and over even as he tucks the book away, knowing the story wouldn’t draw him in with so few hours before Geralt would be waking. It wasn’t that Jaskier didn’t sit well quietly, it was that quiet had never sat well with Jaskier, or at least that’s what his mom always told him; it was only when he got older that he understood the subtle difference between the two. 

Jaskier pulls out his phone, the battery an accusing eleven percent but there’s a plug next to the bed and Jaskier quickly sets it to charging before his foolish streak can fade. Jaskier opens their playlist, the shared one that had a mix of both their music, the one that filled the house with tunes when Jaskier wasn’t at his guitar, a bit of each other wherever they went. 

With a resolute tapping of the shuffle option Jaskier lets it play, soft enough it won’t drift into the hall but certain that Geralt, wherever his mind has taken him to, can hear it. Jaskier gently turns Geralt’s hand over so it’s palm up, lightly tracing over each finger and across his palm, marveling at the strength contained there, fingers so calloused and worn but the gentlest that have ever graced him.

Jaskier loses himself to the music and motion, one song trailing into the next, snatches of memories from times the songs have played before. 

... _Jaskier pulling Geralt from where he’s cooking. Geralt fumbling through the steps but that shy smile curling his lips…_

_...Ciri stiltedly working through the guitar rendition of a song she knows her Pama likes…_

_...Valentine’s night at the bar, just near closing when Geralt had pulled him close for a slow song…_

“Excuse me.” Jaskier’s head snaps up at the nurse’s quiet apology, finding Eskel hovering in the doorway, clearly uncomfortable. The shift must have changed as Jaskier doesn’t recognize her but they exchange polite smiles as she checks over the many IV’s and and machines by his bed, noting something in his chart before she slips away.

Jaskier’s traitorous phone starts the next song, this time one of his own and Jaskier scrambles for the device, working to silence it he misses the small smile that twitches Eskel’s lips. 

“I just thought…” Jaskier trails off, knowing before he says it that it will sound so much worse out loud than it does in his head. 

“He loves your music. He thinks we don’t hear it but he’ll play it when he’s in the office.” Eskel says, not moving from where he’d stepped to the side to let the nurse pass. Jaskier smiles at Geralt at the words, he sometimes worried the studio was so he didn’t have to hear the same song over and over as Jaskier worked through particularly tricky bits. 

Jaskier turns back to Eskel, realizing he’d probably come to check on his brother but was too polite to say anything. “I’ll just…” Jaskier makes to gather up his satchel when Eskel’s quick, “No.” stops him.

Slowly straightening from his aborted stoop, Jaskier waits, unsure. 

“Jaskier,” Eskel starts, clearly nervous. “I’m sorry. For what I said last night. I–” Jaskier waves his apology off.

“You said what needed to be said.” Jaskier shrugs but Eskel still looks haunted, still stays pressed against the wall as though he fears Jaskier will send him away any moment, as though he doesn’t think he belongs there.

“Doesn’t mean I should have said it. You’re not...don’t think...Geralt _would_ want you here.” Eskel presses and it’s in that plea that Jaskier understands, Eskel thought he was upset with him for what was said the night before.

“You weren’t wrong.” Jaskier counters but it does little to alleviate the guilt Eskel feels, his eyes drifting to the rainbow tumbler at Jaskier’s elbow. Jaskier tucks down the sigh that threatens, hating how they have to worry about such a small thing when they’re already so distressed about Geralt. 

“I’m still sorry, Jask. It wasn’t my place.” Eskel’s words hurt, though Jaskier is sure he doesn’t mean them to. He wasn’t as close to the man as the others but over the months he thought they’d grown closer. “I...Geralt mentioned you liked the sticky buns.” Eskel offers a familiar bakery bag, now considerably crumpled from his tightening grip.

Jaskier smiles, or maybe they _had_ grown closer. “Thank you, Eskel. That was very kind.” Jaskier doesn’t move, forcing Eskel to come closer. He can tell from the weight of the bag there’s only one sticky bun within, the pastry of a considerable size on its own.

“Didn’t get anything for yourself?” If Eskel is surprised at Jaskier’s blind appraisal he doesn’t let it show.

“Triss…” Eskel waves away the end of the sentence at Jaskier knowing grin. She had a sweet tooth as wicked as his own and had likely started nibbling at his.

“Split mine with me.” Jaskier doesn’t wait for Eskel to agree, turning he moves one of the considerably less comfortable chairs up next to Geralt’s bed, commandeering the bed tray as their own he lowers it and slides it between the chairs. 

“I’ll be fine. Really. You–” Eskel swallows his next words, worrying how they’ll sound, how Jaskier might take them. 

“Please? Having someone-” Jaskier shifts, he knows it’s an underhanded move but he’s not entirely lying. “It helps.” 

Eskel looks thoughtful at the admission, understanding what Jaskier is offering him is far more than just half a sticky bun. Before Jaskier can claim it himself, Eskel folds himself into the spare chair, Jaskier clearly wanting to argue but with a mock glare reclaims his own seat. 

It’s when Jaskier carefully unfolds the cardboard box the pastry had been fitted into, cutting it in half before turning it so Eskel has easy access does he realize it wasn’t just conversation and Geralt he was looking to share.

“Jaskier.” Eskel’s frown is matched only by the disappointment in his tone. 

“I have my smoothie.” Jaskier says it as though it’s the most obvious answer, ignoring Eskel’s pursed lips as he nudges his half closer. Jaskier resolutely waits for Eskel to pick up his piece and take a bite before he starts on his own only to set it down before tasting it. He carefully slides each of the pecans off with the plastic knife and piles them in the bit of no man’s plate between them. 

“Still a bit...rough.” Jaskier admits quietly to Eskel’s raised eyebrow, hand coming up to absently tug at the hem of his shirt. Eskel doesn’t miss the gesture, nor that it continues even after Jaskier has taken a bite and he was supposed to be helping, not making things worse.

“Don’t stop the music on my account.” Eskel says by way of opening. Jaskier’s hand flutters before it taps awake his phone’s screen and familiar notes fill the silence once more. Jaskier quickly taps to the next song, then the next, clearly intending to keep going until he finds one that isn’t his own. 

“Don’t.” Eskel suggests. Jaskier glances to him, finger hovering but not quite pressing skip. “I always found it fascinating where musicians get their inspiration from.” He shrugs, nodding towards the phone, eyes fixed on Jaskier who looks like he doesn’t quite believe what Eskel is asking.

The remaining hours pass, Eskel snagging Jaskier’s discarded pecans before the trash is swept away, causally pressing the smoothie into Jaskier’s hand on his way back from the trash can. 

They work through Jaskier’s songs, moving on to exchange histories and explanations of different songs they’d heard over the years. Jaskier discovering Eskel had a well hidden appreciation for music. 

“Sorry to interrupt what looks to be a good time but,” Dr. De Luca’s voice snaps Eskel and Jaskier’s attention to the door. Neither having realized the hours slipping by.

“It’s time?” Jaskier leans forward in his chair, Eskel mirroring the action at his side.

“It is. We’ll ease him off the anesthesia and he should wake shortly.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Geralt wakes! _Next_ chapter. Which also happens to be next year! So hold onto that confetti! See, other authors give you false hopes, I give you false 'fetti hopes. Doesn't make it better, does it?  
> Ok, but! Quality fluff between not only Triss and Jaskier but Eskel and Jaskier so that's _rattles Flangst Meter_...something.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Golden eyes shift towards him but there’s no recognition, a cold dread filling Jaskier as Geralt grows more agitated once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the New Year and a new chapter! Does everyone have their confetti at the ready? Geralt is waking this chapter. 
> 
> Huge thank you to VeritasRose for betaing! Wouldn't be what it is without her.

Jaskier knows Dr. De Luca is somewhere close by, Eskel across from him on the other side of the bed but he doesn’t dare pull his eyes from Geralt, even though he wants to look and ask _when_. They’ve waited hours for this moment, for Geralt to be well enough they could lighten the sedation and find out if he had any feeling remaining below his waist.

Geralt’s body tenses under Jaskier’s hand, preparing to fight though it doesn’t know the battle has long since passed. Geralt’s throat clenches, trying to expel the unnatural feeling of the tube in it, his eyes flicking open only to scrunch shut at the bright light of the room, hands spasming where Eskel and Jaskier have a gentle hold. 

Jaskier had been warned Geralt might try to reach for the tube, he would still be groggy from the anesthetic but it was imperative they keep him from attempting to do so and try and calm him enough for the exam. Jaskier had readily agreed, only now understanding the responsibility. 

The silence should be alarming, the pained keen from Geralt suddenly cut short before his hand tries to rise, eyes still closed but he doesn’t need to see to know there’s something in his throat that he wants out, that he _needs_ out. Jaskier shifts where he stands, having forgotten how strong Geralt was, leaning his weight on his arm, trying to pin it to the bed, out of the corner of his eye he sees the muscles of Eskel’s arm tighten, the only outward sign he’s struggling as well.

A noise that will haunt Jaskier for the rest of his days, so unlike Geralt but yet unmistakable that it’s coming from anyone else, sounds again, his fight renewing. 

“Talk to him.” Eskel commands gently, having been in Jaskier’s place before he has an understanding of what it feels like, how Geralt’s pained whimpers still lurk in his dreams, just waiting for him to close his eyes. Eskel leans over, easily capturing Geralt’s other wrist, he rubs his thumb in soothing circles over his pulse point as he’s done each time Geralt’s been in the hospital, believing somewhere deep down Geralt recognizes his presence.

“Geralt.” Jaskier’s voice is shaky and he has to try again for it to be audible. “Geralt. Look at me, love.” Jaskier knows his fingers are cold as he cups his boyfriend’s cheek, Geralt’s nose scrunching at the contact but his eyes crack open.

“Hey there, just focus on me, lover.” Jaskier fills Geralt’s vision, blocking out the hospital room as his eyes open slowly, absence of awareness from the anesthetic but no less beautiful to Jaskier. Geralt still struggles against Eskel’s hold, something Jaskier doubts will stop until the intubation tube is removed.

Golden eyes shift towards him but there’s no recognition, a cold dread filling Jaskier as Geralt grows more agitated once more.

De Luca barks what Jaskier already knows, that Geralt needs to be kept still, calm, but can barely think past the pain in his heart. 

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make,” The words waver as Jaskier’s voice cracks, certain Eskel and the doctor think he’s lost his mind but slowly Eskel’s jostling settles where he pins Geralt’s arms, the need to yank the uncomfortable obstruction free still crashing like waves in him. 

Jaskier keeps singing as Dr. De Luca moves to his side, pausing only when the doctor walks him through a few exercises meant to gauge his reflexes and sensitivity. 

“We’re going to sedate him again.” Questions tangle in Jaskier’s head but Eskel’s voice cuts through, drawing him back to Geralt, who needs him. 

“You’ll never know dear, how much I love you,” Jaskier doesn’t care if it’s not the right verse, it’s the one that came to mind. 

Geralt puts up a weak fight against the tiredness stealing across his body, taking him away from his family again, the pull against Eskel’s arms weakening until Geralt is lax under Jaskier's touch. 

“Please don’t take my sunshine away.” The last line barely a whisper as Jaskier leans close, pressing a kiss to Geralt’s forehead. 

o~O~o

“Hey slacker, there are easier ways to get out of work.” Jaskier’s head isn’t the only one to snap up at Macee’s voice, Lambert pausing in his pacing, hackles rising at words that hit too close for comfort. The papers and his songbook drop to the floor as he rises, crushing her in a hug that audibly whooshes the air from her, but she clings back just as tightly. Up on her toes as though to get a better hold, she blinks up at the ceiling, fighting back the tears that raise. 

When they finally pull apart Jaskier kneels, gathering his dropped papers and Macee takes the distraction to swipe at her eyes, only Jaskier’s family seeing this crack in her facade and by the time he rises she’s back to her dismissive stare. 

There’s a casual shuffling, Triss moving down a seat, forcing Eskel over one as well so Macee can sit next to him. Her satchel drops to the floor at her feet with a tinkling of metal knocking together, the many pins covering her bag rattling as she turns her attention to the papers in Jaskier’s lap.

Pamphlets and printouts hold place in his songbook, the one he’d proudly shown off to her that he’d gotten for Christmas, carefully handmade just for _him_ and was now being filled with notes, questions denoted with asterisks every few lines. 

Macee waits, watching as Jaskier sorts his papers, knowing he’ll speak when he’s ready, when he can. 

“He’s in surgery again.” Jaskier starts. “But he’s...uh...he’s gonna be ok.” The words are in a rush as he flashes a watery smile at her. “The first one went well and now they’re just fusing his vertebrae which is, in fact, as scary as it sounds.” Macee smiles softly, knowing he needs to get this out, is reassuring himself as much as her. 

“I mean, he’s going to need physical therapy and we won’t know...won’t know the extent of the damage.” Jaskier thumbs open his phone, a staggering amount of tabs open as Jaskier had gone down the medical rabbit hole, one article leading to another or three. “But he had feeling in his legs so there’s a good chance he’ll walk again and…” Jaskier falters. 

“He’s not your mom, J.” Macee eases the phone from him, darkening the screen she sets it to the side before sliding her hand into his. 

“I know. I _know_. He’s...he’s gonna be ok. He already is ok. I just–” Jaskier swallows hard, breakfast souring in his stomach. 

“Need to do this. I get it, but–” Macee gathers his prized songbook and papers from his lap. “Not in here.”

“Mace–”

“No. _No_. I know how much this book means to you and I’m not going to let you sully it with...unworthy notes.” Returning the printed pages to Jaskier she carefully works to tear out the pages he’d filled, leaving only song lyrics. She passes those over before she closes the songbook, smoothing the cover as though to console it for what she’d done before wrapping its cord around it and tying it closed.

“I know better than to try to stop your research frenzy,” Macee levels a look at Jaskier that clearly implies how much she doesn’t agree with this particular avoidance technique before continuing. “But I’ll get you a notebook. A whole forest of notebooks for it.” 

“A whole _forest_ of notebooks, huh? That’s a lot of trees.” Jaskier’s smile is tentative but it’s there. 

“Well I know you think all your thoughts are prolific.” She bumps his shoulder with hers, misunderstanding the flash of pain. His mom had encouraged his writing, no matter how pointless the lyric seemed, she’d always said you have to start with a scrap of fabric before the quilt can be made.

“I’m serious, he’ll be fine.” Macee says it with such conviction, as though she won’t accept anything less. 

“I know.” And Jaskier did, deep down he knew Geralt would be fine. 

Macee studies him a moment longer, seeming to seek the truth within the words and that Jaskier isn’t just saying what he thinks she wants to hear. 

“That’s good. Means we didn’t do all this for nothing.” Macee says folding over and rummaging in her satchel, sitting back she offers a stapled packet of papers to Jaskier. “HR said you need to read through and sign the last page, marked it with a sticky note and everything as though you wouldn’t understand what last page meant.” 

The casual way she says it, drawing one leg up into the chair with her as she absently watches him, reading turning into skimming as disbelief mounts.

“Macee.” His tone alerts the others who have been doing their best to not appear like they’re sitting so close they’ve heard everything and have been trying not to. “This...you…” 

“Need a pen? Thought you might.” Folding herself down once more, leg still bent in the chair earns an appreciative look from Lambert that Macee returns with a raised eyebrow. Sitting back she offers Jaskier a pen expectantly but he just stares at the papers.

“Take it, J. Like you said, he’s gonna get better and you’re going to need to be there as he does.” Macee pauses, softly adding, “He’s gonna _want_ you there.” 

Jaskier flips the pen over each of his knuckles and under his fingers, starting over when he reaches the thumb as he reads through the papers again as though they’ll tell him something new. The pen comes to a stop, poised for signing but he says, “I can’t. I appreciate what you’ve done, this is...I don’t know how you even managed to pull this off but I _can’t_.” 

“You can’t...sign your name? Possibly go on without seeing me everyday?” Macee teases even as she knows it’s none of those things. 

“I can’t not work. The medical bills alone and…” Jaskier subconsciously presses a hand to his chest, rubbing the tightness there as he thinks, not for the first time, about how he’s going to make this work.

“Feel free to jump in anytime.” Macee’s tone is flat as she looks to Triss and Eskel, both looking stricken at Jaskier’s words. They had been so focused on rotating shifts to be at the hospital and making sure the White Wolf ran smoothly, knowing how much it meant to Geralt that they hadn’t considered what they would do for income while Geralt was hurt. But Jaskier had. 

None had forgotten Jaskier’s determination to contribute, doubtless he would do it again at the barest hint that it was needed and clearly he was already considering how he would.

“Your work is giving you time off?” Triss starts, figuring it’s best to know exactly what they’re working with. 

“Yeah. They’re letting me take all my saved vacation and Macee somehow got people to donate their days to me so I have longer off.” The awe and appreciation that had colored the words when Jaskier first learned of her doing is gone, replaced with regret.

“I really appreciate you doing this. I don’t know how you pulled it off and I can’t thank you for calling in that many favors but–”

“I called in exactly no favors. They heard what happened and offered to pool their days so that you could have all the time you needed.” Macee explains, willing Jaskier to understand this was freely given.

Jaskier smiles softly at the news but as quickly as it comes it falls. “I appreciate it, I really do. But–” 

“Sign the papers.” Eskel cuts him off, Jaskier blinking at him owlishly. “We’ve already got plans in place to keep the bar going for him and he’s going to need help but more than that he’s going to _want_ you near.” Eskel knew he was playing dirty, that Jaskier would do anything Geralt wanted no matter what it cost him, but this was something they both needed.

“I can’t just not have a paycheck, the bills–”

“Will be taken care of. Those papers ensure he has a job to come back to?” Lambert asks, prowling closer.

“Granted he signs them. Even if he doesn’t I’ve gotten his signature down.” Macee shrugs with such abandon they can’t tell if she’s kidding or not, but the look Jaskier gives her edges closer towards not.

“Sign the papers for him if he won’t.” Lambert instructs, Eskel barely containing his sigh at Macee’s conspiratorial grin, “You take care of Geralt, _we’ll_ figure the rest out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _nervous laugh_ Geralt was awake! And yet, I don't feel like it was quite the confetti-raining moment you lovely readers hoped for, but it is _me_ behind the keyboard.
> 
> I swear he's more awake...longer awake...however that works in the next chapter. Definitely more conscious Geralt.
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments! They absolutely brighten my days!


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt looks like he wants to protest, golden eyes leveling him with a look that says there are thoughts inside that don’t remember how to find their way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! _dusts confetti off some of you_ Oh, it's so wonderful that you're here!   
> I can't thank you enough for reading or sharing your thoughts! I want you to know I feed, water and take them on walks each day, they are well tended.
> 
> And a huge thank you to VeritasRose for not only betaing this fic but bouncing ideas with me at all hours.

With just an hour before Geralt was supposed to be out of surgery Jaskier is counting the minutes. His phone buzzing pulls his attention from the hall, another message from Yennefer, this one confirming he doesn’t mind if Ciri video calls him. 

Yennefer had been struggling with Ciri who wasn’t handling the news of her pama being hurt again, well. More specifically that she wasn’t allowed to visit him. The video call had seemed like a good compromise and would hopefully help to quell some of Ciri’s anxiety.

“Ciri time.” Jaskier waves his phone as he stands, Eskel, Triss and Lambert all nodding. He didn’t expect the call to take an hour but should news of Geralt come early they would find him.

Another family had joined them in the waiting room so Jaskier heads down the hall, slipping into one of the small quiet rooms.

With a final confirmation to Yennefer he’s ready, Jaskier waits, trying not to think of the last time he stood in one of these private rooms. Then he’d been flanked by Eskel and Lambert, braced for news, now he’s alone but has the same quivering feeling to his insides but he’s needed so he’ll do this.

A selfie of him and Ciri, ridiculously colored sunglasses on and cheeks rounded by wide grins fills his screen.

“Hey little cub.” Jaskier greets as Ciri’s face fills his screen, eyes red and cheeks splotchy from crying, her white wolf stuffie squished under her arm.

“Julian, is Pama ok?” Jaskier knows he should’ve expected this question, but he didn’t and in the ensuing silence, as he scrambles for an answer, Ciri’s face crumbles.

“Oh, Ciri, your Pama is ok.” Jaskier tries, hating how much of a mess he’s made for Yennefer who was already trying to wrangle the White Wolf. They all knew Geralt would want it kept open, regulars would wonder what was going on and though it had few employees, they needed the paycheck just as much as anyone. 

“No he’s not. You’re all lying.” Ciri chokes out, video shaking as sobs wracked her tiny body.

“Ciri, I need you to take a deep breath for me.” Jaskier hates using this tone with her but it gets her to try and that’s what matters. Her breaths are shuddering, little chest hitching but she tries, Jaskier coaxing her through each one until it’s just wet hiccups and he tries again.

“I swear to you, your pama is going to be ok. He’s a little banged up but the doctors are taking really good care of him.” Jaskier won’t lie to her but she doesn’t need to be worried about this either. _Geralt_ wouldn’t want her to worry about him.

“I wanna see him.” Ciri whispers, fresh tears welling. Jaskier understands this pain, the need to see, to be able to fully understand and accept.

“I know sweetie. But he’s in a super special room but that means you can’t come see him just yet, but as soon as he can have visitors I’m sure your mom will bring you.” Jaskier sends a silent apology to Yennefer, hoping he’s not making promises she’s not comfortable keeping.

Ciri’s mouth twists to the side but she nods, clearly not happy but it’s more than she got from her mom and knows better than to press.

“What have you been up to?” Jaskier asks, hoping to distract her, not wanting to end the call on such a tearful note.

“I wanted to make you brownies but mommy said no.” Jaskier swallows the sigh that threatens, unsure what logic Ciri’s mind followed that made her want to bake brownies but knew Yennefer was not having an easy time between trying to keep things limping along at the bar and consoling Ciri. 

That was very nice of you to think of me but I don’t need brownies.” Jaskier smiles but fresh tears well in Ciri’s eyes. “Why the tears, little cub?” 

“My wish wore off.” Ciri whimpers, looking absolutely crestfallen and Jaskier could kick himself.

“Birthday wishes can’t wear off, silly.” Jaskier keeps his tone light and as he’d hoped Ciri’s sniffling lessens slightly.

“Really?” She’s still sniffling and Jaskier can imagine these days have been hard on her, Yennefer having mentioned nightmares meaning an overtired Ciri.

“Yep.” Jaskier pops the p. “I love your brownies but your mom just has so much going on right now I wouldn’t want to be a burden.” 

“A bird in what?” Ciri questions, scrubbing at her itchy cheeks, recapturing her wolf plushie when it slips from her arm. 

“In what? I don’t–” Jaskier shakes his head, trying to figure out what Ciri was talking about. He was usually better at this.

“You said you didn’t want to be a bird in. Why are you a bird and what are you in?” Ciri is so serious in her question that Jaskier can’t help but laugh, honest, contagious laughter that brings tears to his eyes and draws Ciri in until the sound of their happiness fills the small room. 

When they are calm enough that Jaskier can speak coherently he tries to explain. “A _burden_ is when someone already has a lot to do and you ask them to do more.”

“Like making brownies?” Ciri suggests.

“Yes. Like making brownies when your mom is already helping your Pama so much by making sure things go ok at work.” Ciri nods, reluctantly accepting the explanation. 

“Ok.” Ciri sounds so dejected and Jaskier thinks maybe this was her way of helping, no doubt having watched Geralt cook for everyone she’d adopted that as her love language. 

“You know what you could do that will make your pama _so_ happy?” Jaskier starts, the idea forming.

“What?” Ciri leans forward and Jaskier’s certain she would find a way to lasso the moon if he said Geralt wanted it.

“The doctors didn’t know about the extra special bracelets you made us and took his off. When he–” Jaskier catches himself before he could say ‘wakes up’. “He’s sad without it.” 

“I can make him another one.” Ciri crows, finishing Jaskier’s suggestion. 

“And he’ll know you were thinking of him even though you couldn’t come visit.” Jaskier adds, hoping to help keep Ciri from feeling so bad about not being allowed in the ICU.

“I’ll make him the bestest bracelet.” Ciri says so seriously Jaskier can’t bring himself to correct her.

“If you have time would you mind making me one as well? I wore yours so much it fell off.” Jaskier had panicked when he’d noticed it missing from his wrist and tore the house and his car apart trying to find it. He’d finally, reluctantly accepted its loss only to have Geralt find it that night tangled in the sheets.

“Did you make a wish?” Ciri is quick to ask.

“I sure did.” Jaskier had in fact made a wish as he’d pinned one end of the bracelet under his mom’s picture frame.

“Good.” Ciri nods, pleased. “I should go now. Mommy said not to keep you.” Jaskier smiles, Yennefer probably hadn’t intended for Ciri to share that bit.

“Thank you for talking with me.” Jaskier can’t explain the lightness in his chest, the band that had been tightening having eased at talking to her. 

“Tell Pama I love him.” Ciri nibbles her lip, the happiness slipping a little at her request. 

“I will.” Jaskier vows. 

Ciri nods. “Bye, Julian. Love you.” Those few words would carry Jaskier through the remainder of the wait until Geralt’s out of surgery. 

o~O~o

They warned it might take a while for the anesthesia to wear off and even then he’d be groggy but Jaskier didn’t care. He watched Geralt intently, not wanting to miss the moment they’d been waiting for.

Triss, Eskel and Lambert were scattered about the room, they knew they were stretching the rules into breaking territory but Jaskier had pulled out his charm and swore it was only until he woke, then they would take turns.

Lambert was posted up beside the door, a casual lean except for the intense focus he had fixed on the bed and Jaskier briefly wondered if he was a sniper when he was in the forces with the way he could go preternaturally still. 

“Did we text Yennefer?” She was at the Wolf, sorting out deliveries and arranging the covering crew for them. She wanted to be there but she also knew what needed to be done and her visit could wait; not to mention Ciri who was in desperate need of comfort.

“Yeah, she said to keep her updated.” Triss says softly from where she’s curled in Eskel’s lap, taking the obvious solution to a one chair problem. Jaskier nods, of course they would, it was just a matter of having something to tell her. 

It’s the slightest furrowing of Geralt’s brow, a scrunching that announces his awareness to the world and the pain that expects him. Jaskier leans forward, willing Geralt to move again, for it to be something more than sleep twitches. 

Geralt blinks open his eyes, squinting against the bright light he tries to shift away but there’s a dull throbbing and the familiar pull of stitches. Soothing hands are on him, encouraging him to still.

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s throat burns, forcing him to swallow his question with the pain.

“They said you could talk but quietly for a few days to give your throat a chance to heal up.” Jaskier is there, saying things Geralt knows is important but all he can think is _Jaskier is here_.

The relief is better than any drug, Geralt’s eyes taking a lazy look around the room, finding his family hale and present he tries again.

“Yer kay.” The words slur having clawed up his raw throat. Jaskier, wielding a cup and straw that he won’t relinquish, even when Geralt tries to take it. He guides it to Geralt’s lips, smiling softly when it’s a long beat before his drug addled mind remembers what he’s doing and he takes a pull on the straw. 

Though the water is room temperature it’s still soothing but taken far too soon for Geralt’s liking, earning a huff of laughter from Lambert when he makes a noise of protest. 

"What happened?" Though the words are soft as they echo in the room, even the many machines seem to understand their importance and don’t drown them out.

Jaskier doesn't know what to say, or rather he knows exactly what to say but can't bring himself to.

"Drunk driver out on ten." Eskel is there, a reassuring squeeze to Jaskier's shoulder.

Geralt nods, eyes drifting closed as he takes this in. When he opens them once more they seek out Jaskier, struggling to focus on him and align his thoughts.

Before he can say anything Triss is at his other side, her head on his chest as she gently hugs him

"I'm kay." Geralt murmurs, the hand not clutched by Jaskier coming to rest on her head. She nods against his chest but he repeats it all the same, the words tangling in her hair as he presses a kiss to the crown of her head.

She straightens not long after, swiping at her wet cheeks and looking abashed but Eskel holds out his arm, beckoning her to his side. Pressed into him, arm around her waist she rests a hand on his chest. Geralt smiles tiredly at Eskel as he looks between them.

Through long blinks Geralt drags his eyes to Jaskier. "'M sorry." Geralt frowns at how it slurs. Jaskier shakes his head, squeezing Geralt’s hand as he tries to imagine what Geralt could possibly be sorry for.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for, dear heart.” Jaskier tells him. Geralt looks like he wants to protest, golden eyes leveling him with a look that says there are thoughts inside that don’t remember how to find their way out. 

“It’s ok, we’ll be here when you’re ready.” Jaskier murmurs, smoothing Geralt’s hair back behind his ear. Geralt’s eyes crack open, a nod or a nuzzle at Jaskier’s touch none are certain, but he lets sleep pull him back under. 

o~O~o

“When they told you to take a break I’m fairly certain they intended for you to leave the grounds.” Yennefer says, sitting next to Jaskier on the bench in the hospital’s courtyard. Though most of the flower beds are little more than mulch, stubborn tulips have made their debut, adding color to an otherwise sparse garden. 

“He’s awake, Yenn.” Jaskier doesn’t look away from the small fountain they sit before, temporarily a statue until the lines are certain not to freeze and it can recommence its former intention. 

“And you want to be near him, but you also need to take care of you.” Her reflection tells him from across the way, her gaze focused on the feature as well.

“I...know.” Jaskier won’t lie and say he will. He knows he’s not leaving Geralt’s side tonight, not so soon after he’s been given back to them. The drugs are still wearing off and he’s been more or less asleep, but the moments of consciousness are growing in frequency and duration.

“De Luca said she’ll wait until tomorrow to go over things, once he’s more coherent and will be able to understand. After, after that I’ll try.” Jaskier knows he won’t have much of a choice by then. Geralt will be of a clear enough mind that he’ll start to press, no doubt finding support from his siblings. 

“Well then I’m doubly glad I brought you these.” Jaskier turns to look at the real Yennefer who’s proffering a small plastic container, the size you’d tuck a sandwich in, dark squares within.

“Brownies.” Jaskier sighs, accepting the container. “I’m sorry, I tried–”

“Oh no, _you_ were successful. She has a new favorite word, not always used quite correctly but,” Yennefer shrugs, smiling softly. “She worked very hard on making you both new bracelets, she probably made enough she could give one to each of the kids in her class.”

Jaskier grins, Ciri loved making the bracelets but they had to be _just right_ before she gifted them to a specific recipient. 

“I’d hoped it would distract her. Make her feel like she’s helping since she can’t be here.” Jaskier offers, hoping Yennefer can curb her before it gets out of hand.

“It’s a great idea and I do think it’s helping. Or at least I know where she’s at and she’s occupied.” Yennefer waves the admittance away before Jaskier can press for details on how things at the Wolf are coming along. “I just…she worries about you.”

Yennefer didn’t have to finish that thought, it was obvious in the container he was holding. Ciri, though still too young to fully comprehend, had a deep-seated fear when it came to her Julian and food; one her mother shared as well.

Though Jaskier isn’t hungry, having choked down the dinner Lambert had brought him, though tasty his body was still too stressed to desire food, Jaskier opens the container. The cloying scent of chocolate fills the air, four brownies nestled within and Jaskier edges one out, taking a bite and reminding himself he needs this as much as Ciri needs him to want it. 

“You ok? You’re making a face.” There’s trepidation in Yennefer’s voice, old concerns lurking in the shadows, waiting to become issues.

Jaskier waves her off, working to swallow down the mouthful. “Milk.” Jaskier finally manages and Yennefer laughs, the fudgy brownies a danger when not accompanied by something to wash them down. 

Finished with his first brownie Jaskier feels comfortable tucking the container into his satchel, thinking how maybe tomorrow, with the doctor’s ok, Geralt can enjoy one of Ciri’s brownies as well. 

“Think they know I didn’t leave?” Jaskier asks, shoving to his feet.

“You still don’t realize it do you.” Yennefer just laughs as she passes him his satchel. “Lambert trailed you when you left, has probably been taking laps every once in a while checking on you.” 

Had it been anyone else, Jaskier would have bristled at the thought of being watched, but where Lambert wasn’t great with words, he looked out for his own. 

Yennefer keeps pace beside him as they head back towards the floor Geralt’s on, Jaskier placing a bet with himself on how close they’ll get before she mom’s him.

His bet is wrong, she makes it to the floor they need and even off the elevator before putting a hand on his arm, drawing him to the side.

“They said he was gonna be pretty out of it the rest of the night. Between the anesthetics, pain meds and something to help him sleep you could go home and get some rest yourself. Eskel is coming back in a few hours, you could go then.” Yennefer offers so carefully, giving him the chance to say goodnight and stay for a bit since he’d been on break. “You won’t be so tired when you talk to the doctor tomorrow.” 

Jaskier hears the silent _or Geralt_ at the end. He knows she’s right, had spent most of the time sitting in the courtyard trying to convince himself it was ok to go home tonight, that Geralt wouldn’t mind and would actually be happier if he did. Jaskier was certain he would take one look at him, rumpled and smudges under his eyes even darker from a night spent in a chair and _know_. The last thing Jaskier wanted was to worry Geralt, to be a burden when Geralt needed him to be strong as he’d done for him all these months. 

“If he’s up for it, I’ll go when Eskel gets back.” Jaskier concedes, the words bitter as his stomach twists at the thought of leaving Geralt.

“I know it doesn’t feel right, but it’s for the best. And Eskel will keep you updated, but everything will be fine. He’s just gonna sleep.” Yennefer assures him, such confidence in her tone it quells the uncertainty thrumming through him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And he was awake! I swear we get more actual conversations with Geralt that are cognizant and less fuzzy from drugs starting in the next chapter. 
> 
> And! Oh we are getting to chapters that I am just so excited to share with you all!


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soldiers from different kinds of wars knowing what it’s like to be laid low by a simple kindness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have tissues and more confetti and you're welcome to turn your tissues into confetti should you change your mind throughout the chapter and not want to backtrack.  
> I am so glad that you're here! And we have more awake Geralt and dare I say some fluff! Though you may have to squint...through binoculars.
> 
> Big thanks to VeritasRose for betaing.

Jaskier lay awake in bed, though he kept his eyes closed. This way he could pretend Geralt was beside him, the faint smell of his body wash and worn leather wasn’t just from his pillow but from _him_.

The frankly, uncalled for, jaunty tune of Jaskier’s alarm forced him to accept his reality, swiping away the tears that had trickled down, pooling in his ears he sighs heavily, steeling himself against the day. 

The motions of a shower and simple breakfast play background to the memory of Geralt in the hospital bed. Jaskier had made sure he was asleep before leaving, knowing his hope of returning before Geralt woke was naive but he couldn’t bear to leave him awake and alone. 

Jaskier hardly tastes the smoothie, doing little to quell the lingering hunger, now days off his routine, but he can’t bring himself to make more even though there’s still an hour before Jaskier would even be allowed in Geralt’s room. Normally Jaskier would pass the time with his guitar but the thought of filling the silence, their home, with music feels wrong. 

Prowling from room to room Jaskier tries to shake the uncomfortable feeling that trails him, as though the mere threat of Geralt never returning has turned the house against him, or maybe him against the house. He forces himself from trying to parse those thoughts and instead gathers up his satchel, looping it over his shoulder as he heads for the door. 

A riot of color greets him, having been returning when it’s too dark and he’s too tired to notice more than the path to bed, Jaskier had missed the flowers Geralt had planted for him blooming. The fear and doubt that had been twisting tighter inside Jaskier with each passing hour unwinds, the fear and doubt lessening of _how_ he’ll do this, how he’ll care for Geralt when he couldn’t even keep himself, easing. 

He would do it because Geralt needed him, but more than that, he could do it because what Geralt needed most was him to be there, as Geralt had been for him all these months. 

o~O~o

Jaskier scans the waiting room as though he could possibly have missed a surly ex-soldier, a grown flower child and her lurking guard wolf. 

The other family that had been waiting is gone and Jaskier hopes that things are well for them as he takes what he’s come to think of as his seat, looking around as he feels a bit lost, being alone here for the first time. Dragging his satchel onto his lap Jaskier rummages until he blindly finds his phone, swiping the screen open he thumbs through the chats, looking to see if he’s missed a message.

There’s no new messages, no updates about any of them heading home or stepping out to get an early breakfast and Jaskier tries to tamp down the worry that threatens. He’s halfway through a message asking if everyone is ok before he realizes it might sound like he’s guilting them for not being there, for needing to step away.

Quickly deleting it he darkens his phone, Yennefer was probably trying to get Ciri to school...it was a school day wasn’t it? Jaskier shakes his head, it doesn’t matter, he was sure they were all fine. Geralt had made it through his final surgery just fine and there was no reason for them to sit round-the-clock vigils. 

Exchanging his phone for the notebook Macee had thrust upon him with a smirk, _Get Your Shit Together_ written in bright swirling letters on the front, Jaskier smirks at the reminder. Opening it, he flips past the many pages of notes, having pulled the most important bits from the many printouts they’d given him as well as the hours he’d researched on his own to the questions he wants to ask the doctor. 

He reads them again and again, wanting to remember what to ask without having to dig his notebook out for reference, though he knows he will anyway to record the answers. By the time visiting hours start, Jaskier doesn’t feel more prepared for the doctor’s rounds, rather he feels like he has all the wrong questions. 

Snapping the notebook closed, Jaskier huffs at the notebook's message, a bit of the anxiety ebbing. The doctors would answer the questions he didn’t know he needed to ask, it’s what they’d always done in the past. 

Jaskier nods to the nurses as he passes their station, earning more than a few welcoming smiles back as he heads for Geralt’s room. “Here to see your wolf?” 

Jaskier is helpless to the blush that burns his cheeks as he ducks his head, grin widening. “Yeah.” The nurse gives him a soft smile and Jaskier thinks he shouldn’t be surprised word of the Witcher’s own White Wolf spreading through the halls, especially considering they’d all been wearing their leathers.

Nearing Geralt’s room his grin falters at the familiar growls coming from the open door. 

“-mentally unsound. As soon as Eskel gets here– _Don’t give me that look_. He’s going to use up most of his pissedness at you first–” Lambert cuts himself off as movement in the doorway draws his attention, his grin turning dangerous when he finds Jaskier hovering there. 

With what looks to be great effort, Geralt follows Lambert’s gaze to find Jaskier, his welcoming smile a pained rictus. Though he’s laying absolutely still, body held taut as though each breath threatens to break him and with a sharp pang Jaskier realizes it probably does. 

Jaskier moves to his side, hand fluttering above his before settling on the bed, fingers nearly brushing but Jaskier can’t bring himself to risk closing the distance.

“Jaskier.” His voice is low, a wince accompanying his name, too much other pain concealed to tuck this away as well. Jaskier forces himself to address Lambert when he wants nothing more than to smooth Geralt’s hair back and reassure him. 

“Why is he refusing the meds?” Out of the corner of his eye Jaskier catches the hurt that flashes across Geralt’s face. 

Lambert smirks. “Doesn’t like how hazy it makes him.” 

Jaskier nods, stubborn but for an understandable reason. “It was probably just the anesthesia wearing off, I’ll check with the nurse but the ones they’re going to give you shouldn’t do that. Though you’ll probably need to take them with food." Jaskier trails off at the identical looks of surprise.

Jaskier shifts his weight from one foot to the other, Geralt knew about his mom but had never pressed for details, letting Jaskier share as much as he wanted, as much as he could.

“Lambert and I are both here, you’re safe. Just take them now and we’ll talk to the doctor about switching them to something else if it makes you drowsy.” It’s not a question so much as a plea.

Geralt looks at Lambert, seeking something Jaskier doesn’t understand. 

“There’s no honor in being stubborn. You’re hurting, take the damn meds.” Lambert adds, knowing his brother too well.

Geralt’s jaw clenches, whether from pain or feeling like he’s being ganged up on, neither know, but he finally nods.

“I’ll go tell the nurse. She’s gonna give me a hero’s welcome.” Lambert waggles his eyebrows but the relief, though quickly covered, was still caught by Jaskier.

Geralt waits until Lambert is out of the room before he speaks, his mournful gaze fixed solely on Jaskier as he bites out, “Sorry.” 

Jaskier is stunned into silence, blinking owlishly at Geralt, knowing he needs to say something but with dawning horror he pieces together what he _thinks_ Geralt means but hopes desperately he’s wrong.

“You declined the meds so you could talk to me. To apologize for being _hit by a car_.” Jaskier forces the frustration to stay out of his voice, knowing it won’t help matters.

Geralt’s lips part in what Jaskier has no doubt is a blatant lie of a protest that he didn’t do something so idiotic when Lambert’s voice sounds instead. “Yeah. He does that. Also when he gets stabbed, mauled by a dog and once possibly, most memorable, when he got thrown through a window.” Lambert drawls as he returns, a nurse in tow wielding Geralt’s salvation.

The narrowing of Geralt’s eyes is clearly meant to urge Lambert to shut up but without Eskel around to properly wrangle, with Geralt indisposed, it has little effect. It’s only when Lambert turns his smirk on Jaskier does he realize his error, Geralt wasn’t imploring him to silence for his sake but for Jaskier who looks distraught. 

It’s not that Jaskier wasn’t familiar with the ruin of Geralt’s body, scars that raised his flesh into shiny coils or valleys where there wasn’t enough left to knit back together. Jaskier had met each one, either with mouth or fingers, careful of the sensitive scars, those worn on the flesh and on the soul. It was due to the latter that he didn’t know all their origins, knowing what it took for Geralt not to shy from his touch he’d never pressed for the trials behind such brands. 

Jaskier doesn’t press for details now, even though the questions gnashes against his teeth, instead he gently takes Geralt’s unhindered hand in his own as he says, “There’s no need to be sorry. We’ve all been exactly where we want to be, here, with you.” 

Geralt lets out a huff that’s closer to a sigh, searching Jaskier’s face and finding only honesty there he squeezes his hand. “Thank you.” 

Jaskier shakes his head, exasperated at being thanked for something that anyone would do for someone they loved but when Geralt’s eyes find Lambert’s there’s an understanding there. Soldiers from different kinds of wars knowing what it’s like to be laid low by a simple kindness.

A knock at the door draws all their attentions, a doctor having stepped just inside looks between the three, obviously having noted the tense silence but protocol was a strict mistress. 

“Good morning, Mr. Bellegarde. I’m Dr. De Luca. Thought we might go over a few things and see about getting you moved to a normal room. Your family has been _creative_ in their rotations of seeing you.” Lambert appraises the doctor’s choice of words, it seems their haunting of the waiting room and attentive shifts hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“Eskel’s gonna be sorry he missed this bit.” Lambert says by way of excusing himself. “I’m no good at this part.” With a measuring look at Jaskier and deeming his brother’s boyfriend steady enough to handle this, he leaves the room, giving his brother the bit of dignity he has to offer.

De Luca moves so she’s standing on the other side of the bed, bracketing Geralt between her and Jaskier. “I know this isn’t the most comfortable position to hold a conversation but you’ll need to stay laying down as much as possible these first couple weeks.”

Geralt nods tightly, something in the gesture warning Jaskier he knows this is just the start of directives he doesn’t want to hear. With a squeeze of his hand Jaskier pulls his from Geralt’s rummaging in his satchel he pulls out his notebook, earning a small smile from the doctor as she takes in the festive reminder adorning the cover. 

Jotting down a quick note about laying down he looks back up, finding De Luca’s deep green eyes on him, cheeks burning as he realizes she’s been waiting on him.

“You need me to slow down or repeat something just ask, ok?” Her tone is kind and Jaskier swallows down the assurance that he’s gotten rather skilled at backlogging what the doctor says to scribble down long after they’ve parted as most are too busy to bother.

“Thank you.” Jaskier says instead.

“Welcome back to us Mr. Bellegarde. From what I hear you’ve wracked up some serious karma points in your time and chose the past couple days to cash them in.” Jaskier has rarely seen Geralt look abashed but the barest ducking of his head, a blush to his cheeks draws a smile to Jaskier’s face. 

“You were in a pretty severe car accident. Your lungs got a little ventilation which is why your chest may feel a little tight. It’s gonna be sore for a few weeks and we’ll send you home with this special pillow.” De Luca plucks a pillow from the foot of the bed that’s shaped like a pair of lungs but doesn’t squish under her grip. “I want you to hug this if you cough. It will look as ridiculous as it sounds but your chest will thank you for the support.” 

Geralt eyes the pillow as though its very existence offended him, though it was more the need of it. “Lungs?” He questions as he reluctantly reaches up and takes the pillow, his hand dipping at the unexpected weight but he dutifully tucks it at his side for easy access.

“Some people in the medical supply world have a twisted sense of humor.” De Luca eyes the pillow. “Or assumes all patients are idiots and will lose a normal looking pillow among their throw pillows.” This earns closer to a true smile to Geralt and it feels like a victory to Jaskier.

“You had some serious damage to your spine and we had to fuse one of your vertebrae.” At the doctor’s words Geralt automatically wiggles his toes, he’d had yet to try and rise from bed and couldn’t recall if he had made any motion to do so, the panic clear on his face has the doctor hurrying on. 

“You’ll be laid up for a few weeks and you’re going to need some physical therapy but you have full function of your lower extremities.” De Luca assures him, Geralt relaxing from where he had tensed in bed as though he intended to rise. 

“How soon can I return to work?” Geralt’s voice is still low, the normal rasp to it sounding all the worse by the soft quality. 

“One of those, huh?” De Luca murmurs, Geralt’s brow furrowing but Jaskier just smirks, muttering, “Oh, _yes_.” 

“That will be decided between you and your physical therapist and depend on how your body is healing up.” Geralt starts to protest but De Luca carries on. “I know it doesn’t feel like it now but you have a considerable incision in your abdomen, a recently reinflated lung, a fractured hip and contusions over most of your body. For the next several weeks bed is going to be your best friend with brief respites of walking.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Geralt grits out, looking thoroughly chastised, an expression Jaskier has only seen Triss and Yennefer able to bring out in him. 

De Luca eyes him, seeming to gauge how honest he is in his acceptance before continuing. “Once we get you moved to a normal room a physical therapist will meet with you and show you how to safely move to sit, stand and lay. I don’t want you twisting your back and undoing all my hard work.” 

Jaskier dutifully makes another note, a whole host of other questions springing to mind but those will be directed to the physical therapist. 

Stepping to the end of the bed, De Luca folds back the blanket and thin sheet covering Geralt. “You’re already wearing our latest line of medical socks.” She says with a teasing smile that does little to crack Geralt’s scowl. “These are called TED socks and essentially work to keep you from throwing a blood clot since you’re going to be resting for so long.” 

Jaskier spares a glance at the socks and makes a note to invest in several pairs, missing the pained eyes that settle on him before sliding off to resume staring at the ceiling.

“Any questions?” De Luca looks between the two of them but Geralt just shakes his head, a little dazed. “No, thank you.”

“Um…” Jaskier flips back a page, skimming down the questions he’d meant to ask, mentally marking off the ones she’d already answered.

“Oh, right.” De Luca says with a small chuckle. “The most important one. Sexual activity _can_ resume after two weeks, we prefer four but two will be sufficient if you take a more passive role. Basically, if anything hurts, stop.” 

Jaskier’s hard swallow is audible, his eyes panicked as he doesn’t dare look to see how Geralt is handling this information. “I was...um...medications?” Jaskier’s voice cracks slightly and the doctor has the grace to look chagrined.

“My apologies. There will be quite a few but he’ll wean off all of them. Pain meds, something for the inflammation and antibiotics to fight off any infections that may arise. Don’t worry, we’ll send you home with a list and how to administer them.” De Luca assures when it looks like Jaskier means to ask for their names and dosages right then.

“When can I take him home?” Jaskier’s hand seeks Geralt, giving it a gentle squeeze as he smiles down at his boyfriend. 

“We’ll keep him for a few days at least. Make sure things are healing up and you’re _both_ comfortable with getting up, walking and laying back down.” Jaskier nods. He would happily sleep in hospital chairs for however long was needed if it meant ensuring Geralt was getting the care he needed. 

“Thank you Dr. De Luca.” Jaskier smiles at her, even with all his experience with doctors he’s yet to master a smile that expresses just how grateful he is to them for all they do, but it doesn’t stop him from trying.

“You’re welcome. If you have any questions just ask one of the nurses, they’ll track me down and I’ll check on you tomorrow morning.” With a smile split between them, Dr. De Luca turns and strides from the room, Geralt watching her go before his eyes revert back to staring at the ceiling. 

The silence stretches on, Jaskier knowing he needs to fill it, that whatever Geralt is thinking is wrong, no doubt terrible thoughts chipping away at the gift this was.

“I’m sorry, Jaskier. I–” Geralt starts, his head turned toward Jaskier but his eyes looking somewhere just past him.

“ _Don’t_.” Jaskier’s sharp demand silences Geralt, his eyes settling on him. “You _promised_. You promised me all your mornings and all your nights. You don’t get to throw this...this _gift_ away.” The unspoken _me_ hanging between them. 

“Jask.” Geralt starts, not knowing how he’s going to finish it and when he doesn’t, Jaskier finishes it for him.

“You once promised you’d give me whatever my mom wanted for me, you promised to love me.” 

“I do.” The words burn Geralt’s throat, words that aren’t meant to be whispered, but proclaimed.

Jaskier nods, slipping his hand into the one reaching for him, begging him to bring himself to Geralt when he can’t. Glassy blue eyes search golden, watching the hurt and shame dim. “ _We’ll_ get through this. You’re still my white wolf.” Jaskier murmurs, bending he seals the promise with a kiss, missing the flash of doubt that flickers in Geralt’s eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt is awake! Really, truly cognitively awake! And there were fluffy moments! And...wait what's that? Over there in the next chapter? _shakes Flangst Meter like an etch-a-sketch_
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! You lovely readers brighten my days!


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Geralt can stand letting the rest of the world in he finds Eskel standing before him, arms crossed and expression one he'd borrowed from Vesemir. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Hello! Hello! Welcome back! Won't you pull up one of those unfortunately uncomfortable hospital chairs and we'll all gather round a conscious Geralt. 
> 
> Huge thank you to you lovely readers for well...reading and commenting! They brighten my days in more ways than I can express. And another big thank you to VeritasRose for betaing!

Jaskier had agreed to go home and rest only after it was clear him spending another night sitting vigil while Geralt was very much ok agitated him. Geralt rarely asked for what he wanted, let alone needed, but he’d asked for this so Jaskier went.

But he didn’t stay away for long.

Rainbow tumbler in hand, Jaskier is sure he looks like a walking contradiction with it, his Witcher jacket and skinny jeans. Dawn, still waking herself, softens the edges of the parking lot, but even so Jaskier can make out a group of people clustered along the front hospital walk, familiar letters glowing in the dim light.

Jaskier’s steps slow but don’t stop, the instinct to flee absent, something in him recognizing only safety lies ahead. As he gets closer Jaskier is able to pick out a few familiar faces, other Witchers he’s met at various events, though their names escape him he’s certain Geralt would know. The lingering bit of apprehension fades with that thought, of course they were here for Geralt, word had probably gotten out and they’d come to visit, if a little early.

The pressure, or maybe its responsibility, to stop and say something wells inside Jaskier but he needn’t have worried. As soon as he steps clear from the aisle of cars one of the men nudges another, though Jaskier can’t hear the words it’s obvious they’re about him as the second man turns, eyeing him.

“Jaskier.” There’s no question to his name as the man steps forward and Jaskier thinks Macee would consider him the epitome of bikers. Heavy boots and faded tee the man rivals Eskel for size but no fear twists Jaskier as he approaches, hand extended. 

“Mack. Knew it had to be you. Couldn’t mistake that cup anywhere else.” Jaskier clasps his hand, calloused and warm, but like the observation, there’s no intimidation behind it. 

Jaskier laughs, making a note to tell Macee later, certain she’ll find it hilarious.

“We heard about Geralt,” Mack continues.

Jaskier nods at the confirmation to his suspicions, idly wondering if there’s a signal or text chain for such occasions. “I’m not sure if he’s up yet, but if you wanted to–” Jaskier trails off at Mack’s shaking head, his brows furrowed. 

“Oh no. He don’t need us tramping through.” Mack’s words are carried through the group in agreeing nods from the others. Seeing Jaskier’s confusion Mack continues with a soft smile and an almost apologetic tone. “We’re here for _you_.” 

“Oh.” Jaskier blinks at Mack, hearing the words but not quite grasping them.

Mack accepts Jaskier’s surprised confusion with grace and a gentle understanding. “Anything at all ya need, one of us will be out here. We take care of our own.” With a squeeze of his shoulder, a physical reminder that he does, in fact, mean Jaskier. 

“Thank you.” Jaskier is grateful for the dusky light if only because it hides the burn of his cheeks. There’s no judgement on Mack’s face, just understanding and for that Jaskier is grateful. Murmuring another thank you, Jaskier looks across the sea of faces and finding nothing but support, takes his leave. 

Jaskier catches himself turning to smile at the woman who usually works the welcome desk but this early there’s no one, just a sign declaring their hours should you desire to come back. Jaskier eyes the elevator but bypasses it as he’s done each time he heads up to Geralt’s room. He’s only on the fourth floor and Jaskier figures he can use all the exercise he can get. 

With each step Jaskier thinks over how he’ll describe this to Geralt, slowing to a stop when he realizes he’s not sure how he’ll feel about a battalion of Witchers waiting down below when he was uneasy enough at his family visiting. 

By the time Jaskier reaches the fourth floor’s landing he’s decided, he won’t tell Geralt about Mack and the other Witchers below, there was no reason to stress him out further and besides, they were there for _him_.

o~O~o

If Geralt stares straight ahead he can see Eskel from the corner of one eye and Jaskier from the other, sitting on either side of his bed in what he assumes is an attempt to make him feel included. He’s not so callous as to actually think that, it’s that they have to make the attempt at all. 

Apologies were offered each time one of them came to visit as though Geralt expected them to waste their days in the hospital just because he was there. Any attempts he made at trying to dissuade them from returning were mistaken for concern about the bar and he was quickly reassured Lambert hadn’t been left alone so it hadn’t burned down. Yet.

With a glance at the clock, so helpfully mounted high upon the opposite wall, Geralt knows he has to speak up now if he’s going to at all. 

“Jaskier.” Geralt starts as he turns towards his boyfriend, Jaskier raising his eyebrows and looking all too happy to do anything he asks.

“You should go get lunch. At Cafe Morhen.” Geralt wonders too late if he should have saved his suggestion for later, for after Jaskier protests.

Jaskier’s mouth tightens the way it does before he argues something, his body still guarding against automatic refute, too many instances having conditioned him. “I’m good. I don’t need to.”

Geralt doesn’t have to see Eskel to know the words are alarming to him, the sound of shifting beside him telling enough. A new fear twists in Geralt as Jaskier folds forward, rummaging in the satchel at his feet. A fear he’d dared not acknowledge directly lest he will it into being. 

At Jaskier’s words Geralt’s hope had crumbled, he’d been selfish expecting this of them after all they were already doing.

In his weaker moments Geralt had consoled himself that the others had kept an eye on Jaskier, gentle reminders keeping him from sliding back too far. Not when he was still so early in recovery, not so soon after….

Eskel was likely keeping the Witchers going, Lambert had his garage, Yenn with Ciri and no doubt _all_ of them pulling shifts at the White Wolf. Jaskier had just gotten lost in the shuffle, none intimately familiar with his new routine or the struggles it brought.

Jaskier straightens, waving one of those damnable breakfast bars as though it comes close to replacing a meal. Geralt is certain his displeasure shows, the pain medicine stealing his control bit by bit. But when Geralt opens his mouth to protest it sounds like Eskel’s voice.

“You know that’s a snack and not a meal.” Eskel's reminder sounds worn around the edges like this isn’t the first rendition of this conversation.

“I’ll eat.” Jaskier counters, but makes no move to open the bar’s wrapper.

“I know.” Eskel’s voice is gentle. “But lunch _and_ dinner.” Jaskier’s eyes flick to Geralt but Eskel is prepared. “I’ll still be here.” 

Jaskier relents at that, though Geralt doesn’t know if it’s the reassurance he won’t be alone or that he’s run out of arguments. Nodding, Jaskier says, “I can go to the cafeteria. It shouldn’t take me long.”

“No.” Geralt definitely knows he voiced his suggestion too early but continues anyway. “You should go to Cafe Morhen.” After years, Geralt can _feel_ Eskel’s skeptical look burning into him, but Geralt doesn’t dare turn his focus from Jaskier. “Please. For me.” Geralt knows he’s pushing, his voice still a little rough from the intubation. 

“You don’t even like– _oh_.” Jaskier cuts himself off with a smirk. “You want their honey vanilla milkshake.” 

Geralt will take this bit of grace. “If you'd rather go somewhere else–”

“No. There’s good. Eskel can I bring you back anything?” Jaskier asks as he gathers up his satchel.

“I’m...a sandwich would be great. I’m not picky so if you know one that’s good.” Geralt’s grateful to Eskel, more and more. 

Jaskier nods, satchel looped on he uses one hand to brace it so it doesn’t slide into Geralt as he bends over to kiss him, his belly warm and reassuring against Geralt’s arm.

Silence reigns between the brothers for long moments after Jaskier has left, but Geralt knows it’s coming. Knows it’s _all_ coming. 

“Didn’t know you could handle milkshakes again, not after Triss went through that phase. Thought you’d sworn them off.” Eskel says, conversationally but Geralt knows he’s turning the interaction over in his head and it won’t be long before he wedges open the cracks.

“Jaskier likes the food there and they’re pretty healthy. Get a lot of their stuff locally.” Just because Geralt knows Eskel will find them doesn’t mean he has to make it easy. 

“You drink the drinks.” Eskel nods, clearly having grown familiar with the trick himself. “You know we’ve–” Eskel is cutoff by the sharp crack of knuckles against wood, a nurse hovering in the doorway. 

“It’s time for your lap Mr. Bellegarde.” She moves closer, meaning to help, but Geralt has already determined he needs to learn to do this by himself. 

“I’ve got it. Thank you.” Geralt grits out, the nurse hovering nearby. With a steadying breath against the nausea he knows rides the wave of pain from moving Geralt rolls onto his side, teeth caging whimpers as they build. Drawing his knees up he pauses, not buying the lie he tells himself, that it’s to take a natural breath when really he’s stalling, waiting for the pain to ebb lest it pass his lips.

Allowing himself a final fortifying breath, Geralt shoves himself up, letting his legs swing over the side of the bed, keeping his eyes closed as though that will muffle the fire searing his hip and back, missing Eskel’s quiet dismissal of the nurse. 

When Geralt can stand letting the rest of the world in he finds Eskel standing before him, arms crossed and expression one he'd borrowed from Vesemir. 

Under his disappointed gaze Geralt carefully straightens, reaching for the IV pole but Eskel already has it in hand, ensuring Geralt would not be taking this lap in the company of a nurse or on his own. It’s not far, once around the block of hallways, but Geralt is grateful for the sleep pants Jaskier had brought him, gracing him with a little dignity in the hospital gown. 

They make it to the end of one hallway before Eskel speaks, Geralt scowling at falling for the false sense of peace. “He’s done good. He brings a lot of smoothies from home but he eats whatever we bring him. For better or worse.” Eskel’s mouth twists as he remembers his thoughtless gesture, Jaskier so quick to please even at the cost of his own health.

Geralt eyes Eskel at this but doesn’t question, knowing his guess is all too good. “Thank you. He’s doing better, he just–” 

“He’s part of the family.” Eskel dismisses any qualifiers Geralt was about to add.

Geralt shrinks at Eskel’s words, of course they would support Jaskier as they had all these months, it was degrading of him to have thought otherwise. 

“It wasn’t just about...milkshakes.” Eskel’s words cause Geralt to falter, what must his brother think of him, pretending like he’s sending Jaskier away because he’s worried about him eating and he _is_ , but the shame is what had truly driven him and now, closes his throat.

Eskel eyes Geralt, keeping easy pace with his halting steps, left heel scuffing as his hip protests the movement. “He _wants_ to help you.”

“But he _can’t_.” Geralt cuts Eskel off, hating so much in this moment he's surprised he's still standing. He stops even though he knows it will make it that much harder to start again, his leg trembling as he does exactly what he was told not to, shift his weight to his right leg. Geralt stares up into his brother’s amber eyes, willing him to understand this, if nothing else. 

"His heart." He murmurs, the tight line of Eskel’s mouth softens as he acquiesces to Geralt’s truth. Even before the heart attack, Geralt had an easy fifty pounds on Jaskier and now with his heart weakened as it was Geralt wouldn’t risk Jaskier, even if it meant permanently damaging himself. 

“You know you don’t only have him.” Eskel offers softly, eyes narrowing at the long pause before Geralt says, “I know.” 

Eskel wants to press, knows he should but Geralt is failing to control his trembling, one hand clamped so tightly to the rail that runs the length of the hallway his knuckles are white and they’re only halfway back to his room. 

“Do you want help?” Eskel asks, waiting for the annoyed snark and smirk that had always followed any offer of assistance following one of his injuries. What Eskel isn’t prepared for is the wall going up behind his brother’s eyes, watching Geralt tuck himself away so openly before him, something Eskel realizes he’s only seeing as Geralt can’t turn away as easily as he once had.

“I’ve got you, don’t I?” Geralt forces his smirk, holding himself just above the comforting familiarity he doesn’t deserve, not after what he’s done to Jaskier. What he’s saddled them all with. 

The rest of the trip is completed in silence, the soft _shhing_ of Geralt’s left leg dragging growing more prominent the closer to his room until it turns into one unending sound, his hip refusing to do more than be dragged along. Eskel keeps a steady pace beside him, the weight of his gaze weighing Geralt more and more with each step until he’s tempted to attempt steering the pole himself but he knows Eskel won’t relinquish it and even if he did Geralt will spare himself the indignity of having to be scraped off the floor.

The sight of his door and the knowledge of his bed beyond wakes an urge in Geralt his body can’t handle, his steps growing more reckless as he doesn’t give his left leg time to catch up before he’s trying for the next step. More than once it’s only his hand around the railing, all but pulling that side of his body along that keeps him from collapsing. 

Geralt leans against the door frame to his room, salvation a mere six feet away but it might as well be at home for all the nothingness that lies between him and it. 

Eskel curses the IV in Geralt’s left hand, preventing him from casually filling the space on his weakened side, if Geralt would even touch him. It’s the minute straightening of his shoulders that catches Eskel’s attention, the same thing shifting in Geralt now that he does when they’re on a Witcher call and he’s going to do something he knows is going to hurt but has to be done. 

With a surety to his steps that defies the last two hallways Geralt staggers towards the bed, Eskel keeping pace, busying himself as Geralt goes through the tedious process of turning himself around without twisting his hips or back. 

Geralt closes his eyes on his hospital room, on the sick that he tastes in the back of his throat, his body so filled with pain it’s forcing new spaces to contain it. He takes breath after breath, telling himself each one is the last one before he’ll sit, knowing his breaths are numbered before he won’t have a choice and his right leg buckles as well. 

Geralt’s body goes rigid, eyes snapping open at the feel of arms slipping past his in a modified hug, his body easing as he realizes it’s just Eskel.

“Ready?” Geralt can’t bring himself to push Eskel away, wondering how naked his need was that he was doing this. With a hard swallow Geralt finds he doesn’t yet trust himself to speak and nods instead, his head bumping Eskel’s shoulder but that’s all the sign he needs as he lowers Geralt to the bed. 

“Oh.” Jaskier’s surprised voice pauses Eskel where he still hovers, arms not yet unlooped from Geralt. Standing back Geralt is met with Jaskier, a hurt look on his face. 

“Good timing. Nurse came right after you left and I thought you might beat us back.” The words are thick, his mouth watering and Geralt watches Jaskier force his doubts aside, believing Geralt would never lie to him. 

“And you won’t have to sit up again.” Jaskier offers, knowing how much the action hurt. Eskel retreats to the other side of the bed as Jaskier sets about moving the rolling table into position so Geralt can eat his lunch before having to resume the position that demanded most of his hours. 

“It’s a baja chipotle burger, it sounds different but it’s really good. Everything's locally grown...including the meat.” Jaskier says with an awkward laugh, as though he fears the joke will offend Eskel, but he just chuckles and accepts it with a thanks. 

Jaskier and Eskel carry the conversation through lunch, Geralt barely able to eat his sandwich much less his ill begotten shake. Even if it weren’t for the pain, the shame of his deception turns the food to ash in his mouth; Jaskier didn’t believe he would lie to him but Eskel knew better. 

Geralt wants nothing more than to lay down, to take the pressure off his hip, hating that a part of him hopes Jaskier will notice and get him the ice pack he can’t bear requesting himself. He pushes these thoughts aside as he forces another bite, Jaskier had gone to all the trouble of getting him this, the least he could do was eat it, but his body has another idea and tries to heave, jarring his ribs and breaking his tenuous hold.

“That was probably a bit much for your system with all those meds.” Jaskier swiftly moves the tray away, tone guilty as he holds the emesis basin at the ready, experience making his precautions quicker. Geralt waves it away, forcing his stomach under his command, clinging to this bit of control.

Geralt doesn’t realize his eyes have closed until the soft click of plastic meeting plastic sounds with no visual to match it, but he can’t bring himself to drag them open, fighting as he is to keep his tenuous control. Cool fingers help lower him to the bed, supporting him when he tenses as the pressure on his hip increases, raising his legs and adjusting him about until he’s on his back, the stiff pillow elevating his legs. 

“Hip hurting again? I’ll ask for an ice pack.” Jaskier pauses, “And an extra blanket. Shivering isn’t going to do you any favors.” The words are light, teasing and exactly what Geralt had hoped for, but he’d rather deal with the pain that threatens to crack his teeth rather than get what he wants. 

“I’m fine, Jask. Don’t worry.” Geralt is inordinately proud the words come out steady. 

Jaskier’s brow furrows as he studies Geralt before smoothing into a look that warns Geralt he won’t like whatever comes. “The pain will keep you awake. Don’t worry about falling asleep, I’ll be here when you wake.” With a smile and something he says to Eskel that Geralt doesn’t catch he turns, intent on finding a nurse.

“Don’t push him away.” Though Eskel’s warning is more a gentle cautioning, Geralt’s eyes still burn with tears and he forces a tight nod of acknowledgement.

Jaskier’s return is announced by a dimming of the lights, the harsh glow lowering to something that doesn’t burn red on Geralt’s eyelids when closed. “Doctor’s orders say no more than twenty minutes but by then it will almost be time for your pain meds.” 

Geralt’s body instinctively jerks at the sudden cold but Jaskier knows better than to chase him, letting Geralt’s hip acclimate until he can prop the ice pack in place with a pillow.

“Hmm.” Geralt is helpless to the hum of pleasure that escapes him as Jaskier spreads a warmed blanket over him, chasing the chill from the rest of him and arranging it so only his hip is exposed lest the ice melt faster. 

“When this one goes cool I’ll trade it for another warm one, love.” Jaskier’s fingers are warm when they brush over Geralt’s brow, tucking hair behind his ear. 

“Thank you.” Geralt’s words are slurred as the pain ebbs, sleep filling the space. Geralt knows there’s more he wants to say, more he _needs_ to, but he’s warm and the last thing Geralt knows before sleep claims him is the feel of Jaskier’s fingers carding through his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you look at that! A flangst sandwhich. We started _and_ ended with fluff. Ok, the end fluff was a little smashed but so was Geralt. Too soon?


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt obeys without thinking, his eyes never straying from Jaskier, fearing if he looks away he'll disappear and be left alone on that dark road once more.

"Hey, you back with us?" Jaskier calls softly, noticing Geralt's slowly blinking eyes. Geralt wants to pretend he didn’t hear the tinge of hope in his voice and let sleep claim him once more, but Jaskier is still there, waiting on him and so he forces himself awake.

"How long was I out?" That's not what Geralt really wants to say, but the apologies have already piled up enough since his surgery and he's afraid they're starting to lose meaning and he knows one day soon, when the words will count the most, he'll have already worn through their sincerity.

Jaskier rises, standing so close his thighs press into the side of the bed, hand absently trailing up and down Geralt's arm. "A few hours." He shrugs as though Geralt's very existence hadn't just wasted hours of his time, continuing on as he knows the question before Geralt even asks it. "And I asked the physical therapist to come back later. He agreed it was more important for you to be rested and doing them than trying to power through."

Jaskier smiles, the small victory of allowing Geralt to get some much needed rest barely hiding the glimmer of uncertainty, a lingering fear Geralt believes he should have worked harder to assuage by now. Geralt would never lash out at him for making a decision, for trying to help. 

“I don’t deserve you.” The admission slips out unbidden and Geralt silently curses his riddled mind, but Jaskier’s expression softens to an amused fondness.

“You deserve better.”

Geralt’s hand flails, blindly seeking Jaskier, calming when cool fingers stall his in the air. Squeezing, as though he can press his sincerity into Jaskier. “No.”

Concern pulls Jaskier’s features, but seeing how upset he’s made Geralt he relents. “Ok, love. Let’s agree we... _belong_ together.” Jasker squeezes Geralt’s hand, his other coming up to smooth what Geralt has no doubt is absolutely disgusting hair, dry shampoo only going so far.

Geralt wasn’t sure he belonged with Jaskier before the accident and he has no doubts he doesn’t now, but he won’t take Jaskier’s words from him. Enough people have done that, he’ll just have to work at being what he deserves.

“I swore I would have them page the therapist when you woke up.” Jaskier starts, regret warring between doing what he thinks is best for Geralt and keeping to his word.

Geralt wants to ask for more sleep, knows Jaskier would give it to him, but his word is the only thing that’s never been taken from Jaskier and Geralt knows he prides himself on keeping it.

“Thank you.” Though Geralt nods, Jaskier makes no move to pull away, studying Geralt with that too knowing look.

Geralt watches as Jaskier sets his decision right with himself before giving a final squeeze and pulling away, moving to the door with an ease that makes Geralt envious. Geralt spends the brief time alone trying not to think how numbered his minutes are before the pain ratchets up, though it’s made that much harder as he works to steel himself for it. 

Jaskier returns with a dampened triumphant smile, informing Geralt the nurses were paging the physical therapist. 

Geralt nods, wishing there was somewhere he could send Jaskier to so he didn't have to bear witness to this shame. Again. But Geralt knew better, any attempts he made Jaskier would just postpone until later, until after. With each passing day Geralt's hope that he would be less of a burden, that Jaskier could return to work along with the others while he was relegated to home had dwindled. He'd grudgingly accepted that he wouldn't be back at the White Wolf anytime soon, but he'd only conceded that battle with the expectation he would be better than this. His body had other ideas. 

The quickness with which a knock sounds at the door makes Geralt wonder if the therapist had been waiting on him, a borrowed shame burning through him. 

"Alright, Mr. B, I'm Sasha and I'll be working with you this afternoon." The voice moves into position by the bed, Geralt grateful it's a male this time, no doubt word of his incident having spread. Mary, he thinks her name was, the pain making the little details swim, had been gentle and adept, it was when his traitorous leg had given out, taking her to the floor with him, broken apologies carried on bile falling from his lips as he knew he'd pained her greatly. 

Sasha watches Geralt's stiff movements as he goes through the motions to rise, bodily blocking Jaskier who is shifting in place, fighting the urge to help. 

Geralt's body protests the movements, pain burning through his limbs like he touched a live wire, the extra pain meds still swimming in his veins after the fall yesterday serve only to introduce his roiling stomach into the mix. 

Sasha goes through the motions of warming Geralt up, gentle stretches and moves that are meant to help keep him from stiffening up, reassuring Geralt he'll have the routine down soon when he can't recall the next exercise without prompting. Geralt knows he would remember faster if it weren't for the pain medications but any attempts he makes against his growing reliance is negated by Jaskier, supported by De Luca. 

"Alright, now that you're all warmed up, what do you say we take a walk?" Though it's phrased like a question Geralt knows it's anything but. 

Sasha stands directly in front of Geralt, ready to steady him should he fall as he struggles to push himself to his feet, _Please, I can't do this. Not today._ weighs his tongue. Sasha’s hands make adjustments that temper the pain in bursts, making the motion smoother in starts and stops that eventually see Geralt standing, though he wavers in place.

“I’ll check with the good doc but if your incisions are lookin’ good we’ll see about getting you fitted for a brace which will help support your back while it’s healing.” Sasha says as he studies Geralt. 

Geralt knows what he’s thinking, debating whether they should go to the physical therapy room where Geralt walks between parallel bars, Sasha always at the ready to catch him. The hallway is easier to manage, less pain from trying to get in and out of the wheelchair, his room the finish line that keeps Geralt moving.

“How often would he wear the brace?” Jaskier’s voice is muffled as he stoops, rummaging in his satchel he straightens with notebook and pen in hand.

“It’s best to have it on whenever you’re up and walking.” Sasha says, aiming to include Geralt in the conversation. “Some patients like the support it gives while sitting though if that’s not comfortable or you don’t mind taking it on and off he can sit without it.” Jaskier diligently noted the recommendations.

“Would it be good to have a spare just in case?” Though Jaskier doesn’t realize it, Geralt takes the opportunity to start from the room, Sasha and Jaskier dutifully following. 

With every step Geralt swallows the plea to return to bed, to sleep once more. At least there nothing hurt. But he knows once he opens his mouth he'll never stop begging for it to end. 

Geralt’s world shrinks to the grating pain in his hip, as though someone had poured sand in the socket while he was sleeping, with each step their words are reduced to sounds Geralt doesn’t try to decipher, too focused on resisting the urge to grab the railing, fingers twitching at his side as his leg threatens to buckle.

At the feel of cold sweat breaking out across his body Geralt doesn’t dare glance at Jaskier or Sasha though he knows what’s coming, knows the fate that awaits him. 

There's no warning before Geralt's leg buckles beneath him, giving way and threatening to send him toppling to the floor if not for the flailing hand finding purchase on the railing only to slide under his clammy grip. Fireworks burst before his eyes at the pain in his back and Geralt trips back to Route 10, pain making his body tremble but it only serves to send new waves of agony through him.

Ragged breathing echoes loud in his ears, hands on him guiding him, urging him to do something but the pain is demanding all his attention and it's the last thing he knows before the cool night welcomes him to peace. 

o~O~o

Geralt wakes to darkness, hand spasming as he feels an unexpected softness beneath him, breaths picking up as he struggles to recognize the space around him.

"Hey, hey. Shh, you're ok. I'm here." Cool fingers cup his face, encourage him to look at the voice and there he finds salvation.

"Jaskier." His throat burns but he says the name again, as though he means to invoke this dream into reality.

"I'm right here. I'm going to reach for a cup of water ok, but I'll be right here. Hold my hand." The grounding coolness slips from his cheek, finding home again tangled in his fingers. Jaskier was here. He was safe.

True to his word, Jaskier doesn't go further than he can reach, turning back with a plastic cup in hand he murmurs, "Just for a moment." Before freeing his hand from Geralt's, fitting the straw between his lips for him to take a drink.

Geralt obeys without thinking, his eyes never straying from Jaskier, fearing if he looks away he'll disappear and be left alone on that dark road once more. Reversing the motion that brought him a drink, Jaskier returns his hand to Geralt’s, smiling softly at the stilted motion of Geralt's thumb tripping back and forth over his knuckles. 

There's a dimness to the room but as soon as the curiosity forms its end is lost to the haze that seems to cloud his mind. "What..." Geralt starts, knowing there are many ways he should want to finish, that he should just have to pick one but he can't recall any of them. 

Jaskier's smile is small and...sad? Geralt's brow furrows, his songbird shouldn't be sad. He doesn't realize he's dropped Jaskier's hand, or spoken aloud until blue eyes soften, mouth upturning at the corners as Geralt cups his cheek.

"How could I be sad when I'm with you?" Jaskier murmurs, pressing his hand over Geralt's where it cups his cheek, knowing he's too drugged to keep it there himself for long.

Guiding his hand back to the bed Jaskier continues. "You fell again, do you remember that?" Geralt feels like he should but thoughts keep slipping away.

"No." Jaskier nods, though he doesn't seem upset that he can't remember.

"They gave you something...for the pain." There's something in the way he says it that makes Geralt think he should ask, but he's not sure what and so he just nods, trusting Jaskier will tell him what he needs to know. 

Geralt watches as Jaskier thinks something over, hating how tired he looks, the way he leans against the bed as though he needs something to help hold him up. 

“The nurses wanted to give you a bath.” Geralt’s body stiffens at this, too many scars and unforgiving hands, worse than the devouring eyes. “I asked them to let you sleep but you might feel better after one.” 

Geralt wars with himself, his skin feels tacky, soured with dried sweat but Jaskier makes the decision for him. ”I’ll give it to you, ok?”

“No.” His throat has returned to its raw state, the balm of water having worn off. The thoughts are slow to piece themselves together, give reason to the deep feeling of shame that rises at Jaskier’s offer.

Jaskier smooths his hair back, Geralt cringing for him at the greasy locks. “Please. Let me do this for you, you’ll feel better.” Jaskier’s words are low and gentle, filled with such love. Geralt wants to tell him he has no doubt that Jaskier would be gentle, that it’s the shame of the act itself. 

Jaskier’s head tilts and Geralt wonders if he’s spoken out loud as Jaskier murmurs, “Let me take care of you.” Geralt can’t stand the thought of rejecting Jaskier after working all these months to reassure him there’s no need to hide his body. 

“Ok.” Geralt assents, the resounding smile undeserved at such a small thing, but Jaskier is happy and that’s all Geralt cares about.

“I’ll be right back.” As he always does before leaving, even if he’s just gone a handful of minutes, Jaskier kisses him.

Geralt watches Jaskier leave, allowing the hazy half sleep to draw him under only once he’s moved from sight.

o~O~o

“I know this is an odd request but I spoke with his doctor and she’s signed off on it. Put a note in his record and everything.” Jaskier gives his best smile to the nurse, knowing the night shift crew are more skeptical and with good reason. Gratefully the nurse pulls up Geralt’s chart and whatever note De Luca had put in has the nurse’s features softening. 

“We’ll get you what you need, hun.” Jaskier thanks her, offering to fetch it himself but she waves him off with assurances he’ll have it shortly.

Back in the room, Jaskier finds Geralt much as he left him, sleep seeming to have claimed him once more. Jaskier quietly strips out of his hoodie, any embarrassment he feels about being only in jeans and a tshirt are dimmed by the night.

Jaskier sets about preparing for the task ahead. Seeing Geralt in such pain again and no Eskel to help ground Geralt had rattled him. The pain medicine and sedative were administered without question, Geralt falling still so quickly Jaskier had nearly worked himself into a panic attack in misunderstanding. 

Time had lapsed around Jaskier as it had in those early days. 

_The sharp jolt of pain up his legs from his knees cracking against the tile floor._

_Geralt twitching, brokenly begging for help from an accident he was taken from days past._

_All animation ceasing in his body, the hand spasming in his, losing its fight._

_A familiar room and a familiar chair next to a familiar bed._

_Bright hair and soft hands, a gentle voice encouraging him back._

Moments blurred until Triss appeared at his side, asking if he was ok and what had happened. He vaguely remembered telling her, or trying to, but at some point his mind had gotten stuck on the thing he thought Geralt needed most. A bath.

When De Luca came to check on him again Jaskier had made his request, growing more sure as he shared the idea. She’d been uncertain, offered to have the nurses do it but he’d pleaded, unable to explain exactly why _he_ needed to, but he could express Geralt’s preference and that seemed to be enough.

Triss had stayed with him, Eskel arriving sometime later with a small bundle that Jaskier now unpacks quietly. Small bottles of shampoo and conditioner are joined by a bottle of body wash for extra sensitive skin. Sealed in plastic baggies to ensure they stay clean is some of the softest material Jaskier has ever felt, washcloths gentle enough to be used on scars. 

True to her word, the nurse Jaskier spoke to appears, blankets stacked in her arms and an odd shaped tub tucked under her arm, another nurse in tow behind her with a basin of water.

“Let us know if you need any help.” The first offers as she stacks the blankets at the foot of the bed, watching her coworker place the water tub before setting hers in Jaskier’s abandoned chair. 

Jaskier murmurs his thanks, waiting until he’s alone once more before dipping his fingers into the water, finding it just this side of too hot he knows it’s perfect.

“Babe.” Jaskier calls softly, stroking his hand down Geralt’s arm, easing him awake. “I’m going to undress you now.” 

Geralt’s nod is slowed by sleep and Jaskier knows it’s more out of trust than full understanding. De Luca had warned he may be a bit out of it through the night. 

Jaskier knows the easiest way would be to have Geralt stand but he wasn’t supposed to be getting up until the physical therapist returned in the morning and they could see if any damage was done. 

Jaskier hoped not for so many reasons but mostly because there had been talk of Geralt going home tomorrow but that may no longer be an option. 

The gown comes off easy enough, it’s the pants that give Jaskier pause and he debates imposing on the kind nurse for help but Geralt is watching him and Jaskier knows stranger’s hands on him right now won’t end well.

“I’m going to slide your pants down now but I don’t want you to lift your hips.” Jaskier cautions, Geralt frowns at the idea but nods. It doesn’t go anything close to easy and Jaskier imagines they resemble a skit from one of those late night shows. When he finally works them off Geralt’s hips he guides them down his legs, setting them aside he realizes there’s no way he’s fully redressing him like this. 

Jaskier starts when he finds golden eyes firmly fixed on the ceiling above, Geralt having gone so silent and still he’d thought he’d fallen asleep. Without a word, Jaskier brings the covers back over Geralt, it was one thing to be laid bare before your lover in the throes or on sleepy Sunday mornings when it’d been decided the world could wait a little longer. But these wounds, still so raw, bare more than just the body.

“Don’t want you getting cold.” Jaskier murmurs, not wanting Geralt to think he’s disgusted by the still healing skin. No, once he gets Geralt home Jaskier knows he’ll spend an entire day worshiping his body, using his mouth when hands aren’t enough.

Once he’s finished smoothing the blankets over Geralt, leaving only his arms and shoulders uncovered, Jaskier cups Geralt’s cheek. “Thank you for letting me do this.” 

Geralt meets his eyes and finds no judgement, only love. There’s still something inside that protests, something about this that doesn’t sit quite right with him, but he’s warm and Jaskier had asked for this, wanted this and he never wants to deny him anything.

Jaskier moves the table closer, adding a bit of the body wash courtesy of Eskel, he swirls one of the cloths before wringing it out, the soft, clean scent fighting the sterile hospital smell. With gentle swipes he washes Geralt’s face, patting it dry before pressing a kiss, hoping it’s not just wishful thinking that he already looks better.

Rinsing the cloth Jaskier starts on Geralt’s arms and though he isn’t exactly uncooperative, his limbs are stiff, unfamiliar in Jaskier’s hands. So Jaskier does what he does best, he sings. Soft bits of different songs, trailing from one into the next, Geralt relaxing into his touch. 

Jaskier makes a mental note to thank Eskel for the soft cloths as he carefully washes tender, healing skin and irritated old scars. Upper body clean Jaskier takes one of the blankets from the stack, finding it warm and sending a silent thank you to the nurse for bringing them ones from the warming cabinet. He smooths it over Geralt, smiling at the soft sigh the warmth brings, Geralt relaxing even further.

“Going to get some fresh water.” Jaskier murmurs, Geralt nods, barely awake under Jaskier’s ministrations. Returning Jaskier uncovers Geralt’s left leg. The hip and upper still painful to look at, deep purples and sickening greens made all the worse by skin grated by road and a healing incision from surgery. 

Geralt instinctively shifts away from Jaskier’s touch with a soft disgruntled noise, no matter how gentle he is, he knows Geralt’s hip has been paining him. With the lightest touch, Jaskier works to clean Geralt’s wounded side before patting it dry and covering it with one of the blankets from the middle of the stack, warmer than the rest from being trapped, Geralt stiffens before sighing under the soothing warmth.

Jaskier works steadily, ensuring each cleaned area is tucked under warmed blankets until all that’s left is Geralt’s hair. Jaskier debates how he’s going to do it, if he’s going to do it at all. The last thing Geralt needs is a soaked pillow, but dry shampoo can only go so far. Jaskier eyes the extra basin, grateful for the nurses who knew what he would need.

This one has a molded side, perfect for washing hair without getting the bed wet. This time Jaskier doesn’t tell Geralt he’s changing out the water, not wanting to wake him from the peaceful lull he’s fallen into. Returning with fresh, warm water, he quietly arranges what he’ll need, trying to turn his thoughts from the last time he did this, how his mom had hummed when his voice gave way to tears. 

Golden eyes fight to open as Jaskier gently lifts his head, sliding the basin into position. “Just going to wash your hair.” Jaskier tells him, voice low. Distress flashes briefly across Geralt’s face but Jaskier starts singing again and his features smooth.

Jaskier fights to control the yawns that threaten to overwhelm him, the need that had driven him waning as his task draws to a close. Jaskier squeezes the water from Geralt’s hair once more, wrapping it to keep the bed from getting wet as he dumps the used water and stacks the basins to the side to be returned shortly.

There’s no way to completely dry Geralt’s hair so Jaskier settles on the next best option and pulls it to the side, twining it into a simple braid he digs in the bottom of his satchel, fingers blindly finding one of Ciri’s hair ties to secure the end. Though Geralt’s pillow will be a bit wet, the whole thing won’t be soaked through. 

With a jaw cracking yawn Jaskier gives his body shake as though he can dislodge the fatigue stealing through his limbs. 

“You should go.” Jaskier jolts at Geralt’s words, briefly _very_ awake.

“That’s it huh? Get you all squeaky clean and you send me home.” Jaskier means the words to be teasing but his heart is still racing and exhaustion is reclaiming the space stolen by panic. 

Geralt frowns, eyes fluttering closed and a deep sigh that Jaskier thinks means sleep has claimed him once more but he speaks again, words slow and clearly taking effort. “You need rest. I’m fine.” 

Jaskier huffs a small laugh, smile fond as he shakes his head but he knows Geralt will fight sleep if he’s worried about him. Moving to his side Jaskier cups his cheek, Geralt pressing into his touch.

“Go to sleep love, I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Love you.” The words are sleep slurred but Jaskier cherishes them all the same, not long ago he feared he wouldn’t hear those words pass Geralt’s lips again. With a brush of lips Jaskier quietly gathers the basins and heads from the room, returning them to the nurses station with a multitude of thanks.

Reclaiming his hoodie from where he’d draped it over the chair, Jaskier pulls it on, warding off the cool hospital air. With a measuring look at Geralt he eases his weight into the recliner tucked in the corner, muffling creaky plastic. 

Jaskier doesn’t mean to fall asleep, knowing De Luca had warned the meds would keep Geralt through the night, he still feared the dim room and pain would trick Geralt’s mind once more, playing out horrors only he experienced. It’s with a start that he comes awake only to find the kind nurse, a finger pressed to her lips quieting him as his eyes dart to Geralt, still sleeping soundly in bed. 

Finding Geralt peaceful Jaskier slumps back, the nurse giving him the smile of a mother as she resettles the warm blanket over him, encouraging him back to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That, lovely readers, was a fine specimen of the not-so-elusive flangst if I do say so myself.  
> I didn't plan for Jaskier to give Geralt a sponge bath, it just _happened_ and Veritas was amazing and supportive because I never thought I would be penning such a scene. I mean, I worried about not one but _two_ grocery shopping bits and now spongebath?  
> Also, the hamsters that run my brain forgot about the bit with Jaskier and his mom and I started crying when I was editing this and got to that part. Yes, I stabbed my own feels, you're welcome.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the third warning Geralt ignores. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! I can't thank you all enough for being here! On the menu for this chapter we have angst with a dash of fluff for flavor. Or, you know, the usual.

Jaskier looks tired, there are smudges under his eyes that only hint at what happened during the time Geralt can't remember, but he knows something had as this morning he woke to the memory of new pains. 

De Luca shares a weighted look with Jaskier but turning to Geralt all she says is, "You clean up nicely." 

Jaskier's mouth quirks toward a grin and Geralt knows the hazy, broken memories of Jaskier bathing him weren't a dream, fresh shame burning his cheeks. 

"But it seems we need to go over a few things first before I even consider you going home as an option." 

Geralt knows, he knows what she's going to say, what he's willfully ignored in the blind belief he would be better by now, but instead he just nods and hopes Jaskier doesn't blame himself.

"You were instructed to get up and walk as often as possible, preferably every few hours, but it was supposed to be for ten minutes. Not around the entire floor like it's a circuit." Geralt doesn't meet Jaskier's stare even as he feels it settle on him, the guilt of an unknowing accomplice. 

"You're lucky you didn't do more damage, though that truly remains to be seen." _After last night_ hangs between them but De Luca knows when to press her patients and what's left to be said won't be accepted if he’s defensive. "Which means if I am to discharge you today it's going to be under the condition that you let your boyfriend take care of you. You’re going to be on some pain meds for a while yet and they’re going to make you think you can be doing things your body isn’t healed enough to handle.”

Ready acceptance doesn't rise to Geralt's lips, instead his teeth gate the automatic refusal, knowing it would damage Jaskier in irreparable ways but his silence threatens to do the same.

"He already does enough." Geralt wishes he could smoothly rise from the bed, gather Jaskier in his arms and reassure him that the voice telling him he needs to be better is wrong. But he can't. All he can do is hold out his hand in a plea for him to understand. There's the barest moment of hesitation, Jaskier rocking forward as though he's not sure he means to take his hand, catching himself before cool fingers slip into Geralt's. "You do." 

De Luca, having the mercy of getting to know this patient and his family, recognizes she's misstepped. "That he does. But for the next few weeks you're going to have to let him do more." 

Geralt would never ask that of Jaskier, had known their days were numbered before Jaskier realized he deserves– _We belong together_. The memory rises unbidden, a moment Geralt had tucked carefully away, afraid looking at it too often would prove the memory false. No, he didn't want his remaining days with Jaskier to be with him as caretaker.

It's the slightest tilt of Jaskier's head, as though he's hearing Geralt's thoughts before he says, "Please. Let me do this for you." And because Geralt is weak, because he so desperately wants to believe that Jaskier means it when he said he meant to hold Geralt to his promise of all their nights and all their mornings, he agrees.

o~O~o

Geralt knows he should have seen this coming. It had become a bit of a tradition, however an unfortunate one it was, that the welcome home party started in his hospital room preempting his discharge and then carried him home. The years Lambert had been away, stationed in places few but him had known, he'd still managed to text Eskel. The number unknown and unfamiliar, but the contents were unmistakably Lambert and impeccably timed.

He doesn't know why he expected this to change with the addition of Jaskier, he had been adopted into the rest of their family affairs and probably didn't even realize this was a reoccurring ritual. Geralt hoped he never did.

"Alright Mr. B." Sasha says by way of greeting and Geralt can hear Lambert's smirk at Triss' soft, "Never been a mister in his life." 

"Got your Cadillac right here. The good doc says you take her for a successful spin and you're good to go." Sasha makes it sound so easy, but the sobering silence warns Geralt before he even looks.

Parked next to his bed, waiting to take what little dignity he's carefully tried to guard, sits a walker. The gleam of industrial metal, brighter only than the light gray that makes up the padded grips.

Geralt turns back to the ceiling, willing the burn in his eyes to stop, ignoring the urge to turn towards the subtle shifting that happens on either side of him. Jaskier says something Geralt can't hear over the roar of shame in his ears. Geralt doesn't acknowledge Sasha exiting, leaving the walker in his place. Instead, his world narrows down to the dig of the brace into his back, dredging up the shame that had come mere hours before as cool fingers had worked to fit him into it, careful of his healing belly, still swollen from surgery. 

His eyes are blind to the silent conversations held around him, concerned lips exchanged for worried eyes, all offered to him on surreptitious glances but he accepts none of them as he steels himself against what comes next. Ten minutes. That's all he has to make it through, a fraction of the time he's been pushing through all week. 

He turns on his side, Lambert's unamused glare nearly sending him to his back once more from where he's posted up next to the door, but he only has one chance at this so he brings his knees up and pretends the bite of the brace is the worst of the pain.

It's a testament to how frustrated Jaskier is that he doesn't move to help, no comforting touches to take the sting from what was once a simple action. This is the first warning Geralt ignores.

Triss looks at him with such pain in her eyes as he metes out his breaths, allowing himself the count of five before he'll push to his feet. He owes her this, he promised her this. He would take her down that aisle and it certainly wasn't going to involve a walker.

Deep down he knew she couldn't care less, would dress it in flowers to match the ones she'd braid into his hair, the crown upon her head. This is the second warning Geralt ignores.

Under the watchful gaze that threatens to pin him to the bed, Geralt pushes to his feet, Lambert shifting the slightest bit to the balls of his feet, arms dropping from where they’d been crossed over his chest. A familiar stance, one he assumes when he needs to be ready to move, when he’s expecting a fight. This is the third warning Geralt ignores. 

Geralt slowly rises, pretending he isn’t putting all his weight on his right leg, that hip already tender from misuse, eyeing the walker that waits 

“I can’t take this.” Geralt thinks Jaskier is talking about him using a walker but when he looks, Jaskier is staring at _him._

“Jask–”

“ _No_. No, Geralt. Do you...I can’t... _permanent_ Geralt.” Jaskier’s voice rises in bite and tone with each word. “Do you understand what that means? You may never walk without pain again let alone _walk_. How are you going to ride Roach or...or...I can’t.” Jaskier’s hand spasms where it’s pressed against his chest, over his heart and Geralt thinks he may be sick. Jaskier has been telling him he can’t take this because he truly can’t, he nearly ran himself to death trying to look better and now Geralt is throwing that in his face.

Jaskier trembles where he stands, a fury thrumming through him that his body can no longer withstand. 

Though everything inside him protests, lashes out at the thought of parading his weakness for those that need him strong and threatens to pull him back to the bed, his mind knows what his body refuses to accept. Jaskier needs _him._

Gritting his jaw against the fire that claws up his back, twisting around his ribs and stealing bits of each breath he drags himself up, walker holding him when his left leg crumples. The rasp of it dragging as he can barely lift it is loud in the room, Jaskier leaning forward where he stands, wanting to close the distance but Geralt needs to do this, Geralt needs _this._

Though it’s barely more than a handful of steps, Geralt is shaking by the time he reaches Jaskier, left hand clamped so tight to the walker his knuckles are white as he presses a trembling hand over Jaskier’s.

“That’s my heart too.” Jaskier’s sigh is shuddering, chest hitching under their hands. Though Geralt knows his family has heard his weakness laid bare, watched as he all but crawled a few steps, the shame he feels pales under the look Jaskier is giving him. 

o~O~o

"It'll be good to have you home." Jaskier says, just to fill the too silent room now that it was just him and Geralt. The others had stepped into the hall so Jaskier could help him dress. Lambert being helped along by Eskel after he protested that he wanted to stay and watch the show.

"Be good to be home." Geralt forces the words from his mouth, he'd rather silence, at least in that he could pretend he didn't require assistance dressing. 

Cool fingers tap one ankle, Geralt raises it so Jaskier can slip the pant leg over his foot, Geralt’s hand automatically seeking his shoulder when he lifts his right, trying to pull his hand back but Jaskier’s reassurance of _I’ve got you_ stills him. He knows this won’t be the first time Jaskier helps him dress, the least he can do is not damage himself further and be more of a burden.

The soft pants feel cool as they slide up Geralt’s bare legs as Jaskier rises, blindly fitting them over his hips as the hospital gown bunches. Jaskier pauses, cool fingers lingering on the soft bit of hip. “Thank you for letting me help you.” 

“That’s something I should be thanking you for.” Geralt counters, taking in the tired blue eyes, smudges below them reminding just how long Jaskier has already been at this.

Geralt closes his eyes, shutting out all the things he knows he shouldn’t and kisses Jaskier. “Thank you.” 

Jaskier hums his pleasure, fingers cupping Geralt’s neck in the kiss he’s waited so long to get, not caring that the motion presses his stomach into Geralt’s. Jaskier rocks back all too soon, cheeks flushed with a want they’ve already been warned is still weeks away.

One of the softest t-shirts Jaskier could find comes next, hoping it will be enough on the tender flesh, still healing from the fresh road rash that had embedded gravel and dirt into already ravaged skin. It’s with a soft grunt that Geralt pulls the shirt on, plucking at where it pulls snug over his lower belly, hand dropping when he catches Jaskier biting his lip at the motion. He’d worked so hard to reassure him, he wouldn’t let his own insecurities be Jaskier’s undoing. 

Jaskier expected a fight when the nurse brought the wheelchair but other than a long glare at it Geralt says nothing, just lets Jaskier help slowly lower himself into it, eyes carefully trained on the floor ahead. In truth, Geralt has no room for fresh shame, not after his behavior earlier, not when the steady beat of Jaskier's heartbeat still echoes in his palm, what his pride had nearly cost him. 

Geralt can't bring himself to raise his eyes up enough to see their expressions as Jaskier steers him into the hall, though he does note a distinct lack of Triss and Eskel as Yennefer and Lambert fall into step, flanking them.

There's talk of lunch and he can hear the frowns when he mutters, "Not hungry." It's easier than admitting there's already a sick twisting in his belly, anxiety gnawing at the little resolve the pain hadn't yet eaten away. 

By the time the elevator opens on the bottom floor Geralt is done contemplating, he can't bear to sit in the flimsy wheelchair any longer, but his girl is standing across the way, a riot or red curls and a smile only for him. Eskel shadows her, a large white paper bag in hand that rattles ominously with every step they take. 

Triss easily matches Jaskier's stride, smiling down at Geralt who reaches up and takes her hand, knowing it's what she needs, what she wants but is unsure of asking for. 

There's a chill in the air, everything shimmering as the morning light hasn't quite burned away the night's dew and Geralt is helpless to the shiver that runs through him as his skin prickles in the cool.

"Don't tell me they let him out early for good behavior?" Only Eskel notices Geralt stiffen at the call, a reassuring hand on his shoulder as Jaskier turns towards the voice.

"Mack!" Geralt blinks in surprise, the disgrace he'd felt at being seen laid low is replaced by confusion as Jaskier reaches out a hand, clasping Mack’s who pulls him close for a brief hug. Jaskier seeming to welcome the embrace as Mack teases him. "Yer just as stubborn as he is. Could've at least made something up, make us feel wanted and all." 

Jaskier laughs as Mack pulls back and steps around before Geralt and he would swear the man looked nervous. "It's good to see you. It's... _good_." 

"Thank you." Geralt says as Triss slips her hand from his, freeing Geralt who offers it, Mack readily meeting it, both pressing all they can't express into it. 

Looking back to Jaskier, Mack's easy smile returns. "Just cause he's goin' home doesn't change anything. You need something you call." 

Jaskier nods and assures him he will before telling Geralt he's going to go get the car and he'll only be a moment, silent nods of confirmation that they'll stay with him in his absence. 

Geralt watches as Mack falls into step with Jaskier, probably not even realizing he's taken to escorting him to his car. He knows it will be a few minutes at best but his body moves of its own accord, the promise of relief too close not to try. 

The wheelchair rolls back, threatening to topple Geralt who was relying on its stability to push himself to standing. Lambert's breathed _Fuck_ is nearly drowned by Eskel's surprised _What_ but two sets of hands are on him, the chair held still as they support him. Unsure if they should help ease him up or back into the chair.

"He'll be fine, Mack–" Eskel reassures, misunderstanding.

"I...can't." Geralt grits out, the pain in his back infinitely worse at this angle, vision swimming. A silent conversation passes between Eskel and Lambert, moving in tandem as they help him stand. Geralt closes his eyes, focusing on one breath then the next, willing the pain to ebb and take the waves of sick crashing through him with it. 

Geralt wants to shake Eskel and Lambert off, stand of his own volition, his body is capable of that much at least, or it was, he's not so sure at the moment with the tremor running through him. When Jaskier's car comes into view he tries to straighten, willing Eskel and Lambert to step back, to not give Jaskier one more worry or guilt that he shouldn't have left him, but they don't because they know they shouldn't. 

Jaskier's face is creased with worry, something Geralt is growing used to and doesn't like, doesn't want to be the new normal as he hurries from the car. Triss had slipped around the trio and opened the door as Geralt clings with more reliance than he'd like to admit to Eskel's shoulder as they move towards the car. 

Though he'd clenched his jaw against the whimper he knew awaited trying to lower himself into Jaskier's low car, his body is traitorous and he knows the grip he has on his brother is bruising even if he doesn't show it. Geralt stays sitting sideways in the front seat, forcing each breath, refusing to be sick before them, to make yet another mess he has no hopes of righting himself. 

The feeling of their concerned stares, all waiting on him doesn't help matters, the only thing keeping Geralt from snarling at them is the sick that would pour out with the words, instead he hunches, pretending the motion doesn't feel indescribably wrong in his back.

"We'll meet you at the house." Eskel's voice comes from somewhere above, Jaskier's answering assent confirming Geralt's suspicion the information wasn't directed at him. 

Geralt opens his eyes at the light touch of a hand on his knee, finding Jaskier crouched before him, so much love and concern as he studies him and Geralt, for the first time, understands how someone could be such a burden they would be abandoned. The thought is followed by Triss’ voice, remembered indignation from the few times he'd dared voice such beliefs when they were growing up, there was no excuse for what his parents did. Or so she claimed.

"You-" Jaskier catches himself, a wry turn of his lips earns a small smile from Geralt as well. "The others were gonna meet us at the house with some lunch but if you're not up for it I can tell them I'd rather it just be us." Jaskier offers and Geralt knows he would let them believe it was him that didn't want them over and not Geralt. 

Geralt wants to want to agree, knows as much as he cringes at the thought of inviting them to witness more of his failing, he can't stand the thought of going home without his family there to see him through.

"I..." Geralt can't bring himself to admit this shame, not even to Jaskier.

With the slightest tilt of his head, Jaskier's expression softens. "It's ok to want them there. They're your family." Jaskier doesn't wait for Geralt to respond, cupping his cheek he presses a kiss to his forehead as he rises. 

The unease that had been filling him since word of his discharge had been announced relents at Jaskier's words. This was tradition for a reason, this was little different than the times before, they would see him home, make sure Jaskier was fed and then take their leave. 

"We can read tonight." The thought slips, Geralt blinking his surprise at hearing it aloud.

"I'd like that." Jaskier murmurs, his grin worth the brief embarrassment.

Geralt slowly works himself around so he's sitting properly in the car, Jaskier easing the seat belt from his hands and snapping it into the lock with a murmured, "You're not supposed to twist?" As though he isn't entirely sure the caution was warranted but Geralt smiles softly at the soft blush of his cheeks. 

They make it from the parking lot and well onto the road in silence and Geralt fears this is what's finally stolen Jaskier's words but with yet another sideways look at him, Jaskier starts.

"Mack, he uhm...he's nice." Geralt raises an eyebrow, the smallest part of him panging in jealousy and fear but he trusts Jaskier and more importantly he knows Jaskier has morals he would never break.

It’s the quick look from Jaskier, gauging his reaction that makes Geralt feel even worse for being jealous. Jaskier thought he was going to be angry, probably _remind_ him they were together.

“He is.” Geralt forces with as much of a smile as he can, fearing it’s more of a grimace.

“He came by, well him and a whole group of Witchers. They remembered me and said there’d always be someone down there if I needed anything.” Jaskier pauses, seeming to work himself up to saying, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

Geralt reaches over, tangling his fingers with Jaskier’s where they rest on his thigh. “They were there for _you_. You’re one of them.” 

“ _Us._ ” Jaskier corrects, flashing him a proud smile. Geralt turns his attention to the window and the world beyond, he wouldn’t ruin this for Jaskier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been so excited to share that walker scene with you! Just as my depravity knows no bounds, Geralt's stubbornnes knows none either it seems.  
> And would you look at that ending? _Fluff_. Go ahead, rub that softness on your feels, use it to cushion them for...  
> On the topic of fluff! I wrote a scene today that is pure, slightly nibbled fluff. It brought a tear to _my_ eye and that's saying something...like there's hope for the chapters ahead? In a Welsh accent? If that's your thing?


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt does as he says only because Jaskier wants him to, trading glass for compress he scrubs his face, feeling no more clean, only soiled in ways that can't be scrubbed away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Passes out magnifying glasses and tissues_ If you look closely on the side of your magnifying glass you'll see _Flangst Finder_ written in script. And I just had some confetti left over and I'm all about that re-purposing?   
> Huge thanks to VeritasRose for betaing!   
> I'm so very glad you're here! Now, what say we get Geralt home.

“We’re almost there.” Jaskier’s tone is apologetic, as there’s really nothing he can do except keep driving.

The subtle jolting and shifting of the car had slowly grown more unbearable, Geralt’s grip on the door turning white knuckled. Geralt manages a tight nod, knowing how impossible the notion of just stopping and laying down in the backseat is. 

The gravel driveway threatens to be his undoing, normally the winding, tree lined path is something he takes his time on, but he closes his eyes and wills it to end.

The car is barely slowing down before Geralt whips off his seat-belt, a bracing hand on the dashboard keeping him in place as Jaskier slams on the brakes.

“Geralt!” Jaskier yelps as Geralt swings his door open, his vision briefly whiting out as he turns carelessly. It’s no matter as there’s shifting gravel under his feet and that’s all his body needs.

There’s too many pains blurring together for his mind to decipher as the meager breakfast he’d managed splatters the ground before him. Then there are raised voices and supporting hands keeping him from toppling forward as stomach bile burns up his throat and dribbles from his lips.

Jerking back at the feel of cool, wet fabric swiping across his mouth, Geralt opens his eyes to find Jaskier crouched before him, Lambert at his side keeping him up. “Sorry.” Geralt rasps.

Jaskier frowns at the apology and Geralt swallows the urge to tell him he understands, that he won’t hold it against him if he collects his things and goes. That he _should_. But the offer stings worse than the bile it’s swallowed down on. 

“Shh. None of that now.” Jaskier murmurs, tucking back a strand of hair that’d pulled free of his braid.

The crunch of gravel announces the arrival of a new audience to his disgrace.

“What the hell happened?” Eskel’s barked question threatens to be drowned out by Lambert’s, “Took you long enough.” Geralt shrinking under their scrutiny. 

“Just focus on me, love. We’re still good for our reading date, aren’t we?” Jaskier says quietly, thumb rubbing his thigh where his hand rests on bent knee. Geralt drags his attention from Eskel’s face, scars making his concern all the more apparent as he jogs towards them.

“We’ll get things ready inside.” Yennefer offers, Triss passing her the bags of food as she digs out her keys.

“You can’t hunch like that.” Eskel chides him and Geralt knows he’s right for so many reasons but most of all the pinching wrongness in his back.

“You my doctor now?” Geralt snaps, because he can, because that’s what you do when you feel cornered.

“Let’s get you inside.” Eskel doesn’t give into the barb and Geralt feels the worse for it. With a smile, Jaskier straightens, stepping back so Lambert and Eskel can move in, confident his brothers have him, that they’re needed.

Geralt knows his careless motion has cost him, his left leg already twitching and back a dull ache that grows with each breath, the brace making each inhale jagged on his still tender ribs. 

It’s a modified version of how they taught him to rise from a chair, but Eskel is there and, over achiever that he is, proffers his arm, not dipping under Geralt’s weight when he pushes up. Lambert is on his other side, the walker useless on the gravel and together they keep Geralt upright, escorting him towards his house, neither commenting on the way he trembles, steps little more than shuffling.

Jaskier is just ahead of them, collapsed walker in hand. The only thing keeping Geralt from snapping at Jaskier that the abomination doesn’t belong in their house is how tightly his jaw is clenched against whimpers. His left leg little more than drags along, the sturdy security of Lambert keeping that side of him moving, none commenting on the rut he leaves in his wake. 

The few steps up into the sunroom give him a glimpse of a future he’d dared not think about, Eskel slipping from his side only once he’s sure Lambert can support him, hovering in the door and ready to steady him should Geralt tip forward. Lambert easily takes Geralt’s weight when his leg buckles as he mounts the first step, the rasp of his shoe dragging along the front of the step and the dull thud as it settles next to its match, more under Lambert’s volition than his own. 

By the time they mount the final step Geralt’s body is trembling beyond his control. Memories of the hallway, his hand slipping off the railing and the blinding pain that carried him away doing nothing to help his precarious grasp on the here and now and he’s certain he would be sick if he had anything left in his stomach. 

Familiar murmurs reach him from deeper in the house, the crinkle of food being laid out along with the click of cans and glasses. This was how it went, you came home and had a family meal together. It didn’t matter what time or when in the week it was, you sat at the table together and shared a meal as was tradition. 

The walker is unfolded and parked right around the stairs, just waiting for him, Eskel giving him no chance to protest as he positions it before Geralt, Lambert edging away, leaving him no choice but to take it or stand there until he can no longer and collapses.

Geralt could go the rest of his days without seeing the agony on Jaskier’s face at what his stubbornness had almost cost them and with the briefest of hesitations he reaches for the walker, the feeling unnatural but at least he doesn’t depend on anyone else. It’s that small consolation that gets him moving.

“We can move it in here if that’d be better?” Eskel offers, voice low when he catches Geralt eyeing the couch. Geralt tears his gaze away, focusing on the archway ahead and the kitchen beyond. The thought of sitting, sinking into that plush surface is almost too much, but it nearly seems worth it if only so he doesn’t have to climb more stairs.

“Kitchen’s better.” Geralt grunts though he isn’t sure how much, if any, he’ll be able to get down. Jaskier appears in the kitchen archway, the concern at what was taking so long morphing into a beaming smile at the sight of Geralt slowly walking towards him. 

Geralt forces himself to keep looking at Jaskier, fighting the urge to duck his head, but finding only love and relief waiting for him he takes one deliberate step after another, Lambert and Eskel flanking him. It takes a little more maneuvering than he expected to turn without twisting his hips but he manages, cheeks burning at Triss’ giggle and Yennefer’s swat and hissed chastisement.

But Triss just waves her off, her grin fond as she watches Geralt. “You _know_ Ciri is going to insist on decorating it.” 

The words give Geralt pause, he hadn’t thought of what his little cub might think of this. She’d been so worried when he’d had past accidents but she’d been younger and didn’t quite understand that he was just playing along when she put one of her festive band-aids on him and he was magically all healed. He wouldn’t hide this from her, but he so wanted to believe Triss was right, that Ciri would want to make it pretty for her pama and it could be left at that. 

“What do you think? Some sparkly streamers?” Jaskier teases, but Geralt knows that tone, the forced lightness when he’s unsure.

“Anything she wants. Except glitter.” Geralt says, wanting so badly to take the trepidation from their faces, the unsurety that they’d hurt him when they were only trying to help. 

“Absolutely no complaints here.” Yennefer laughs. 

They try not to make it obvious, finding little things that keep them from taking their seats until Geralt manages to lower himself into him, Jaskier smoothly tucking the walker to the side, making it less like a table mate. Lunch is simple fare, sandwiches from a local, family deli that makes their own chips and lemonade, a decadent lunch if there ever was one. 

Jaskier nudges the small condiment bowl next to Geralt’s plate, two pills looking paltry compared to the script list the doctor had given them as part of his discharge. “You’re supposed to take them with food.” His voice is quiet, meant only for Geralt who murmurs his thanks, Jaskier smiling as though something as simple as doling out a couple pills was a victory worth celebrating. 

Geralt tries not to grimace as he thanks Jaskier, hating that it’s starting already, that his resolve against the pain medication the doctor insisted on is already wavering.

The others are already working on their lunches and Jaskier giving him concerned glances is the only reason Geralt picks up his sandwich. The bread and meat turn to paste in his mouth, thick, tasteless globs he’s forced to swallow. He manages half, paltry to what he usually eats but he can manage no more. 

The pills rattle as they skitter in the dish, Jaskier turning to him, concerned by Geralt’s shaking hand. He wants to reassure him but he barely dares to part his lips to get the pills down, lunch lurking. They stick in his throat, Geralt taking another gulp of tart lemonade. Lips pursing as he swallows again. And again.

A too familiar sweat prickles his skin, forcing him to move, any hope he had of not drawing attention is lost when the conversation stutters to a halt, he doesn’t have to look to know they’re all watching him. The failed reach for his walker that pulls his back and ribs with a sharp hiss, Jaskier abandoning his own much needed lunch in favor of moving it closer, even as Geralt waves him off.

“‘M fine.” Geralt’s growl does nothing to dissuade Jaskier who hovers. What had once taken mere moments, could be covered by Ciri’s socked feet with enough momentum, now threatens to be an impossible distance. The barstools, not pushed in, threaten to tangle with his walker but he can’t move them, trapped as he is and so, with his family watching, he struggles to maneuver through his own home. 

Geralt expects Jaskier to protest when he abandons the walker, knowing he's risking angering him but he can't waste any more time fighting with it. Somehow the silence when he steps out of its cold cage is even worse but Geralt shoves it aside, the least he can do is not make a mess and give him something else to be angry about. 

With a staggering gait, Geralt makes his way through his kitchen. Each barstool threatens to topple under his hold, uncooperative limbs causing them to dance across the floor as he borrows support from one unto the next.

A step of faith from the last chair back to the archway, the wall bearing his weight as he uses it to guide him to the bathroom just feet away. But Geralt realizes his mistake too late, there was no way he was getting to his knees, let alone hunching over, which left the sink. 

"Geralt?" Jaskier hovers in the door, the door he had forgotten to shut behind him in his hurry but as he'd feared, when he opened his mouth to reassure Jaskier that he was fine, the meager amount of lunch he's managed to get down falls from his lips. No easier coming up than it'd gone down, Geralt's hands spasm where they clutch the sink, sticky hunks of bread lodging in his throat, ribs spasming in their panic to breathe again

Geralt's world narrows down to the bathroom, then shrinks again as he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, eyes and nose streaming, bile coating his chin and drooling from parted lips with each panted breath. But worst of all is Jaskier, hovering behind him, holding a cool compress to the back of his neck, his other hand rubbing across his broad shoulders.

Jaskier's talking to someone but Geralt can't bring himself to turn and see who, to face anymore shame than what's facing him. He knows he needs to start cleaning before the smell and sight urge what he doesn't have left to give to try coming up anyway, but that means a trip to the kitchen and the cleaning supplies under the sink, so many impossibilities in one act alone. 

"Here." Jaskier offers him a glass of water, explaining when Geralt doesn't take it, as though not understanding was what stayed his hand. "Rinse your mouth." 

Geralt does as he says only because Jaskier wants him to, trading glass for compress he scrubs his face, feeling no more clean, only soiled in ways that can't be scrubbed away. 

"What do you say we get you upstairs? I don't know about you, but a nap sounds pretty good." Jaskier's voice is low and though he's not proud of it, Geralt nearly weeps at the offer, at the mere thought that J still wants him. 

"I'll clean up and-" Geralt's voice is rougher than usual, the reflexive clearing serving only to reintroduce the sick taste. 

"I'll clean up, you just go get comfy." Jaskier tells him, offering the glass once more. Geralt longs to protest and washes his mouth out once more if only to buy a little more time to figure out his argument. But the pain from the ride home that had briefly dimmed has flared back, having eaten through his earlier resolve there's little holding him together. 

_I'm sorry_ sits on his tongue but Geralt knows, even if he doesn't want to admit it, that this is just the start of the apologies he'll be making and so he just nods.

With more reliance on the counter and door jamb than he'd like to admit, Geralt carefully turns, hating that he longs for the stability the walker offers. It's not only the walker that's waiting for him beyond the bathroom, Eskel leans against the wall, blocking the few feet between the door and the bottom of the stairs and any hope Geralt had of just leaning his shoulder against it and sliding along. 

"I know I'm not as pretty, but-" Eskel starts, cutting himself off when he gets a good look at Geralt and the hollowness he finds there. "Hey, I've got you." 

As he had, what feels like so long ago but had really been a mere handful of days, Eskel situates himself on Geralt's weakened side, supporting the parts of him that refuse to bow to his control. Geralt’s certain the steps would bring him to his knees if Eskel weren't holding him up. Eskel takes each one with him, one at a time, giving Geralt all the time he needed to talk himself into taking the next. And the next.

And

the

next.

It's Eskel’s unending patience that makes Geralt move faster than he should, forcing himself to take the next step even when his body hasn't fully recovered from the previous one, anything to take less of his time. 

"I've...got...it." Geralt gasps out once they reach the top, freeing Eskel from his duty but the words sound thin even to his own ears.

"Yeah, humor me. Goin' for that Good Samaritan badge." Eskel teases, willing even the ghost of a smile to his brother's face.

The smallest twitch of his lips feels like a victory to Eskel, but whatever comment Geralt was going to offer back is lost to a new bout of pain, his leg trembling where it's pressed against Eskel’s. 

Though the few steps across the overlook and then to the bed should be nothing after the stairs, it's too much for that exact same reason. Eskel eyes the bathroom door, wondering if he should bypass the bed altogether but he doesn't know how much longer Geralt can take standing and so he abandons the idea. What's one more mess.

In the span it takes for Eskel to slip from under Geralt's arm and around to before him, ready to help ease him down should he need, he fears Geralt will collapse. The quaking in his leg seems to have spread to his entirety. 

With less care than he knows he should take, Geralt drops to the side of their bed, tired eyes seeking his. "Thank you." 

Eskel huffs, "There's nothing-"

"I'm sorry..." Geralt swallows thickly. "For ruining tradition." 

Eskel is grateful that they're not on the stairs, certain the shock would have sent them both back down them. Crouching, because having this conversation just doesn't feel right if he's looming over Geralt, Eskel waits for weary golden eyes to settle on him.

"You didn't ruin anything. You're here, that's the only part that matters." Geralt nods but Eskel isn't sure he fully accepts the words, that he even can with how worn he is.

The arrival of Jaskier pushes Eskel to his feet, one last concerned look at his brother before he turns to find Jaskier looking uncertain, his eyes focused on Geralt. It's with an openness Geralt doesn't posses, Jaskier steps close to him, smoothing a hand over his hair, Geralt leaning into the touch until his head is practically resting against Jaskier's stomach. 

"I don't know for sure if your pills came up but it might be best to hold off on giving you more until it's closer to the time for your next dose." Jaskier's words are filled with regret, eyes flicking to Eskel, searching for assurance he's doing the right thing. 

Geralt doesn't respond at first, Jaskier nibbling his bottom lip as he looks looks down at him but finally Geralt just nods, arm twitching as though he means to bring it up before he finally sets himself to the motion and wraps it around Jaskier's thighs, pulling him closer.

Jaskier smiles softly and Eskel knows they're going to do just fine.

"If you need anything..." Eskel keeps his voice low, knowing Geralt would only ask if it was for Jaskier, never himself, but it seemed like Jaskier was getting better about reaching out.

"I think we're good." Jaskier murmurs, running his hand down Geralt's shoulder and upper arm and back again. "But I will. Thank you." Eskel isn't prepared for the look Jaskier settles on him with those words, a trust that he would reach out if needed and know it would be answered without fail. 

Jaskier watches Eskel go, knowing he'll understand seeing himself out, that he wants to stay with Geralt. "You promised me a nap." 

Geralt hums his acknowledgement but makes no motion to move. With reluctance, Jaskier pulls away, murmuring, "Just a moment, love." 

Kneeling before Geralt he works the laces of his running shoes, his heavy boots, having done their job, had been discarded. 

"I can get those. You shouldn't-" Geralt protests, starting to bend forward but Jaskier's there, hand on his shoulder as Geralt's face pinches in discomfort.

"You're not supposed to be bending. You got to come home because you agreed to let me take care of you, so let me." Jaskier presses. Geralt relents and while Jaskier would like to think it's solely thanks to his words, he knows it's in part due to the pain the motion brought. 

"No cold toes in our bed." Jaskier teases as he rises, leaving Geralt's feet clad in the compression socks as he stashes the shoes in their closet. Turning back he eyes the arrangement and offers, "Want to trade sides? It will put you further from the bathroom but your ribs will thank you." 

It's a testament to how much pain Geralt is in, eyes searching the middle distance before he slowly nods and with a bracing breath tries to push to his feet. Jaskier closes the distance between them, near just in case, but Geralt manages, swaying where he stands and Jaskier realizes belatedly, looking around for the walker he'd insisted upon.

"It's downstairs. I'll...bring it up after we get you sorted." Jaskier fits himself into Geralt's side as Eskel had, the few steps taking longer than they once did, a few times Jaskier fears Geralt was slipping and headed for the dresser but by some grace they manage it. 

Though it hadn’t been Jaskier’s side of the bed for long, it feels like it’s always been this way and the smallest part of Geralt protests at the thought of taking this from him, but he already made a mess downstairs and he’s certain he’d make another one if he tried to lay on his left side, however briefly.

“Let’s get that off you.” Geralt had forgotten about the brace, only Jaskier’s hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place, saves him from wearing it through the night. Jaskier stoops, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he reaches behind him to unpeel the straps securing the front to the back, Geralt having to remind himself not to slouch. 

Jaskier tries not to look like he’s hovering, fiddling with the brace as he stays by the bed and Geralt knows he’s waiting to make sure he’s actually able to get himself _into_ bed, something he hates to admit he’s not sure of anymore. The motion isn’t as smooth as he’d managed in the hospital, his legs not quite coming up high enough to clear the mattress but Jaskier is there, moving with him before he can get stuck and jar something. 

Geralt is so focused on breathing, even as his throbbing ribs protest and his shirt and pants feel rough over the still healing road rash, that he doesn’t feel Jaskier tuck a pillow under his legs until it’s already done. “That feel ok?” 

Geralt nods, though there’s no notable difference he doesn’t tell Jaskier that, it was what they were told to do and each time Geralt assures Jaskier he’s helped him feel better he sees a little of the built up tension ease. He knows this isn’t good, the never ending recycling of stress, but he can’t fix it, not when he’s still broken as he is. But he _will_ , Geralt vows, he’ll give Jaskier all the things promised already and all the ones yet to come. 

Geralt watches as Jaskier tucks his Converse in the bottom of the closet before stripping off his skinny jeans and tossing them in the hamper, a habit that was almost manic, one Geralt was certain came courtesy of Marx. Jaskier detours from the bed, flicking off the switch so they’re left with the soft light from the windows before he’s easing himself into bed, careful not to jostle Geralt. 

“How do you want me?” Jaskier’s voice is low, as though he thinks Geralt may already be asleep and though it’s trying to claim him, Geralt has been fighting it, so close to having the thing that’s kept him going.

“By my side.” Geralt murmurs, Jaskier’s grin as beautiful as it was the morning Geralt asked him to move in. 

“Always.” Jaskier swears, carefully pressing his front into Geralt’s side, Geralt’s outstretched arm curling around his shoulders. “Am I hurting you?” There’s panic in Jaskier’s voice as he tries to pull away, having felt him tense.

“Never.” Geralt measures out the word, knowing the pain will dull to something manageable with time and even if it didn’t, he would bear it if it meant holding Jaskier. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Geralt's home! And...I don't actually think there was any fluff in this chapter and you may have noted that _Flangst_ has been scratched out and replaced with _Fluff_. I didn't think there was any in this chapter but if there is it's small so those might come in handy.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and it brightens my week to hear from you!


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But Geralt had never been one to ask for things and he wasn't going to start now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned how much I appreciate you being here? I really do!  
> I just love sharing this with you all so much  
> And a huge thank you to VeritasRose for betaing!

"I was bringing it up." Jaskier's voice snaps Geralt's head up, only his tight grip on the railing keeping him in place. 

"Don't need all that." Geralt grumbles. Because that was the problem, he didn't need Jaskier to keep bringing him breakfast in bed, and didn't need him pacing up and down the balcony as Geralt struggled through the prescribed ten minute walks every few hours. 

He'd been home for two days and he could, grudgingly, accept things weren't going to be as back to normal as he'd hoped, but that didn't mean he was incapable of caring for himself. 

Jaskier falters, tray laden with breakfast and the morning’s second dose of medications, both seeming to do little more than make Geralt feel worse as the day progressed and he was inundated with more. Geralt wishes he would go, he'd made it halfway down the stairs just fine and finally, seeming to realize that he would make it down one more at most in his absence, Jaskier returns to the kitchen.

Geralt knows it’s too much to hope he will stay away, politely waiting at the table until Geralt can hobble his way there and sure enough Jaskier reappears as Geralt is reminding himself of all the reasons he'd used to convince himself to venture downstairs and take yet another step.

Jaskier hovers at the bottom step, looking disheveled with his bedhead and still in pajamas, having started his morning helping Geralt get up and has yet to get himself sorted for the day. But there's such care in his eyes as he watches, clearly resisting meeting him on the steps and taking each one down with him just in case, that Geralt decides he'll make it down _and_ back up, and show Jaskier he has nothing to worry about.

With the final step down his left leg gives a little, holding him but only just and his eyes flutter closed as he remembers what he's been trying so hard to forget. The walker.

"At this rate you won't even need me." Jaskier teases and Geralt is grateful there's no lurking fear in the words, one of his seemingly casual throwaway comments that are really anything but. With that, Jaskier tries to slip past him, hip and shoulders brushing as he heads up the stairs, retrieving what Geralt couldn't manage on his own, but without a doubt, needed.

Geralt eyes the few steps between him and the kitchen archway, then the few steps beyond that which would take him to the stools tucked against the island, his mind spooling out the various supports he could totter to, one after another.

 _I can't._ Jaskier's tired blue eyes and hand pressed to his chest fills Geralt’s mind and dutifully ends any plans he had of moving on his own. He does, however, step to the side, the least he can do is not be an obstacle for Jaskier. Taking the moment alone, he leans against the wall, breathing through the nausea that rolls through him. Slow deep breaths through his nose and out his mouth, the smell of breakfast wafting from the kitchen not helping.

“Your chariot.” Jaskier declares, Geralt’s eyes snapping open, having missed his approach. Jaskier turns to him from where he’d been unfolding the walker and locking it into place, mistaking Geralt’s look, his smile wavers.

“Thank you.” Geralt says, shoving off the wall with what he hopes is a convincing amount of enthusiasm. “You teach Ciri that word and she’s going to be obsessed with gladiators.

It works as Geralt had hoped and Jaskier starts musing about themed costumes for next year and how he bets Eskel and Lambert could be swayed to dress as gladiators. By the time Geralt makes it to the table, Jaskier has it all figured out and Geralt knows he would wear whatever Jaskier wanted if it meant keeping him smiling.

“It’s not much.” Jaskier cuts himself off, excitement giving way to apology at the breakfast he cobbled together. “It’s the last of the eggs, but–”

“It looks delicious. Thank you.” Geralt hadn’t thought about groceries or their dwindling stock. He had enough canned and boxed but fresh was replenished weekly and he was certain what they’d had was long since spoiled.

Jaskier still looks uncertain as he watches Geralt sit, swiftly moving the walker to the side before taking his own. The fare is simple, scrambled eggs with bits of ham and biscuits and Geralt forces himself to fill his plate, the motion feeling unnatural when he is so used to being the one to make it and go after Jaskier. 

Geralt knows he doesn’t take nearly what he usually does, a lone biscuit and scoop of eggs has Jaskier nibbling his lip, certain he’d erred. Without hesitating, Geralt puts the eggs on his biscuit, before taking a second helping and earning a look of relief from Jaskier.

“You added hot sauce.” Geralt notes at the first bite, Jaskier’s hand pauses where he’d been smearing jelly on his own biscuit. 

“Yeah.” Jaskier draws the word out, uncertain.

“It’s good.” Geralt didn’t fear it would bother Jaskier’s stomach, hot sauce was too strong a word for what he kept on hand once he’d started cooking for Jaskier, a bit of seasoning that added some tang but it was more that Jaskier had picked up the knack from cooking with him all these months.

Jaskier beams under the praise, relaxing a little more in his seat and Geralt wonders how long he’s missed the tension stringing Jaskier tight.

Geralt knows he'll be lucky to get one biscuit down, let alone two, each bite settling heavier in his already protesting stomach but Jaskier had made it and so he would. 

"What're your plans for the day?" Geralt regrets the words as soon as he's said them, hating that it sounds like he expects Jaskier to account for how he spends his time. When Jaskier had told him what Macee had done, the gift carried on explanations and reassurances that he'd still contribute to bills had been an exercise in acceptance. 

Geralt fumbling through apologies and reassurances that Jaskier didn't need to nursemaid him, that he should still have a life and Jaskier assuring him he wanted to do this, that he needed to. It'd been the way he'd clutched Geralt's hand, the waver in his voice, forcing himself to be what he thought Geralt needed when really it was a front for how badly seeing him laid low had shaken him that had finally done it. 

"That's not...I don't mean." 

Jaskier just smiles, waving the fumbled retraction off. "I know, love. I was thinking we might pick out some new books? We're nearly done with our current one and I have a few Ciri recommended, I know she'd be tickled if we gave any of them a shot." 

Geralt appreciates Jaskier's attempt at giving him an excuse to fill the time that involves little more than existing yet again but the relief is short lived as he thinks how that's also tethering Jaskier to him. It's not enough he's taken on the daily chores, he's giving him all his free time as well.

"If you'd rather..." Jaskier starts, pulling Geralt from his thoughts, the uncertainty in his voice making Geralt's decision. He would find a way to give Jaskier back some of his time without hurting him.

"Nothing I'd rather do." Geralt assures him, forcing another bite as though to reaffirm the point. By the time breakfast is done, Geralt wants nothing more than to return to bed, the pain in his stomach near unbearable, a tightness against the brace that he's no longer entirely sure is just in his head.

"You want to head back up?" Jaskier asks as he gathers the dishes, smoothly averting Geralt's intent to help with the cleanup. 

"Think I'll walk for a bit." Geralt doesn't know if it's the tension in his voice or his open willingness to use the walker that gives Jaskier pause.

"Let me know if you need anything." Jaskier lingers by the table, obviously debating whether he should move the walker closer for Geralt before finally deciding against it and determinedly stacks the plates and heads for the sink.

Geralt rubs just above the brace, trying to ease the ache in his stomach to no avail.

The walker comes easily enough and Geralt carefully rises, biting off a hiss at the pain that lances through his belly. With tentative steps, Geralt makes his way from the kitchen, fearing a misstep will bring about another pain. 

In a circuit forced by the furniture, Geralt moves parallel to the stairs until he crosses in front of the fireplace, along the windows before turning and heading back towards the stairs. He’s only on his second lap, knowing he won't make it through a third with the tightness in his lungs, his breaths closer to gasps by the time Jaskier appears, pacing having no effect on his cramping belly as he’d hoped, if anything, it’s worse. He wants to lie down, curl up around his griping guts and bruised lungs and ignore the world until he’s presentable, until he’s himself again. 

"Need your pillow?" As much as Geralt loathed the lung shaped pillow, the pressure did help hold things in place when ragged breaths gave way to coughing.

Geralt forces his eyes not to stray from Jaskier to the their bedroom above where the pillow resides, sitting with the lie until he can speak it as truth. "I'm fine."

“You want to stay down here?” The question is honest, Jaskier having noted all the little tells he has no hope of controlling and knows he doesn’t have it in him to make way upstairs. Geralt knew all he had to do was ask and Jaskier would make the couch as comfortable as possible for him and, barring that, Geralt had no doubt that he'd finagle some other way for Geralt to remain downstairs safely.

But Geralt had never been one to ask for things and he wasn't going to start now.

"Upstairs is better." Geralt frowns at his bluntness, can see Jaskier's mind turning over the admittance and understanding more than Geralt meant him to, had promised himself against burdening Jaskier with. 

"I'll get the book and you get you?" Jaskier's tone aims for teasing but concern tethers it and though Geralt tries, Jaskier easily beats him to the stairs, trying valiantly to look like he's not waiting on him as he reads the synopsis of the book they're nearly finished with.

The promise of bed, of curling up near Jaskier is the only thing that gets Geralt up the steps, the put upon pressure of Jaskier waiting for him to get out of the way so he can bring up the walker forces him faster than he should, his hip flaring. The hand Geralt wraps around the newel is shaking as he pulls himself up, eyes closing for a moment’s reprieve of dark as his mouth waters.

“Geralt?” The fear in Jaskier’s voice twists Geralt up inside worse than anything else. He’d sworn he wouldn’t do this to him and by his own hand, once again, he was. 

“I’m fine.” Jaskier’s lips purse in disbelief, or maybe it’s disappointment at how easily Geralt lies to him. “Hip. Just…” Geralt shrugs but it’s enough for Jaskier who turns sympathetic. 

“Almost there. Then you don’t have to get up for a bit, they said to walk as much as you were comfortable.” Geralt nods at the excuse, knowing Jaskier was mentally rearranging the rest of the day, the careful schedule Geralt knew he’d detailed in a notebook. Everything from which medications came at what times to how often he should walk and do physical therapy. 

With an ease that only grew the more Jaskier collapsed and expanded the walker he had it positioned before Geralt, all he had to do was transfer his independence to it and take the few steps to their bedroom. Giving him the illusion of autonomy, Jaskier goes ahead, turning on the light and getting the covers and pillows sorted to make it easier for Geralt.

Jaskier doesn’t comment on the sigh of relief that escapes when Geralt sits on the side of their bed, just lays his hands over Geralt’s where they rest on the walker before leaning over for a quick kiss, gliding the walker away as he moves back. 

“Want the brace off?” It was more comfortable to lay down with the brace off, but that also meant every time Geralt got up to do his prescribed walking he had to trouble Jaskier to put it back on him, unable to twist and secure the straps himself. 

“It’s fine.” Geralt draws his knees up as he moves to lay down, cutting off Jaskier’s protest and belatedly realizing he’d just dismissed his offer from moments before about taking it easy. 

Geralt wants to reassure him that he does mean to take it easy, that he’d thought he would feel better by getting up and going as his body was used to but he’d found he was wrong and wouldn’t be making that mistake again today. But Jaskier already worried about him enough and Geralt couldn’t bring himself to trade it out, one worry for another, so he nestles the hurt he’s caused alongside the others in him, ignoring how quickly the space is filling. 

Jaskier, attentive as always, is there with the pillow that goes under his shins, easing some of the strain on his back and hips, smoothing Geralt’s hair back as he asks, “All good?” 

“Better with you beside me.” Geralt murmurs, relieved at the smile it earns and the knowledge that Jaskier pulls away only so he can move to the other side of the bed, what used to be his side, and join him. 

Jaskier settles against a mound of pillows stacked against the headboard, Geralt blindly seeking his thigh, Jaskier’s hand resting on his once he’s found it. “I’ll read the synopsis and you tell me if any sound good?” Jaskier offers, thumbing open his phone. Geralt nods his assent and lets Jaskier’s voice carry him away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dare I declare that this was more fluff than angst? Have the scales tipped?  
> And domestic fluff is heavier than you average fluff (or so surveys conducted by no one and compiled by fewer suggest).
> 
> Thank you for reading! You know I love hearing what you think! 
> 
> P.S. I'm wrapping up Chapter 51!


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the silence strung between them, Jaskier realizes Geralt no longer finds solace in the night, it had bled from him that night on the road, cold and hurting and oh, so alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, my favoritest readers are back and I'm so very glad you're here!   
> I have tissues right there on the table next to the pillows should you want to scream or lay down and wait for the feelings to go away or apply pressure to a stab wound in your feels.   
> A huge thank you to VeritasRose for betaing!

“Babe, _Geralt_ , talk to me. _Please_.” Geralt leans into Jaskier’s touch, his cool fingers ghosting over his forehead. “You can’t, Geralt. _Stop_.” 

Honed to obey, Geralt’s body halts, harsh pants filling the silence between them as Geralt swallows again and again, willing the pain to stop, willing everything to stop. 

“You can’t curl up, you have to stay flat.” Jaskier’s voice is as gentle as the pressure on his knees, encouraging them to straighten back out from where Geralt had been trying to pull them to his chest. “What hurts? Is it your back?” 

Geralt had known lunch was a bad idea the moment Jaskier started talking about heating something up, breakfast still churning inside him, full and heavy but Jaskier _needed_ to eat and Geralt knew Jaskier wouldn’t if he didn’t. Jaskier didn’t ask if Geralt wanted to come downstairs, had just casually informed him he’d be right back and to look over the list of books they’d picked to make sure he didn’t want any others before they ordered. 

Geralt hated eating in bed, sitting on the edge, clutching a bowl that burned to hold but had no place else to rest. It was one of the casseroles he’d kept tucked in the freezer, chicken and broccoli in rice; easy for Jaskier to thaw and reheat when wanted. 

“I need– _please_ it hurts.” Geralt gasps out, hating how feeble he sounds, tears forced from the corners of his tightly shut eyes. The pain in his stomach had grown unbearable until even Jaskier’s melodic voice reading out their latest adventure couldn’t hold a distraction and he was writhing on the bed, hands twisting the sheets so hard he’s surprised they’ve yet to tear. 

The pain had been mounting for days, what started as a tightness in his stomach only got worse with each meal. Geralt had tucked away the mounting discomfort, knowing Jaskier had dealt with this phantom full feeling every day for months, still struggled with it but fought through and stuck to the dietitian's plan. He had vowed he wouldn’t be more of a burden to Jaskier, cause him any more concern but the pain had stripped away his will until he was reduced to the pathetic child his father had discarded.

“I’m going to touch and you just nod for me if that’s where it hurts, ok?” Jaskier’s voice cuts through the keening moan Geralt hadn’t realized he was making, the sound slipping between clenched teeth, understanding Geralt wasn’t capable of forming words.

Jaskier’s fingers barely slow as they skim across his head and shoulders, doubting the pain lies there but in the few moments it takes, his fingers pausing at his ribs, moving around towards his back, Geralt tries to scrape together any remaining fight he has.

“Oh.” A pardon unknowingly granted as Jaskier doesn’t hesitate to pull up the hem of Geralt’s shirt, nimble fingers peeling back the straps of the brace, the relief of what felt like steel bands belting him makes Geralt’s breath catch. “I need you to sit up and we’ll get it off.” 

Geralt knows Jaskier wouldn’t ask if he didn’t absolutely need him to but the thought of moving from the careful bit of respite Jaskier had carved out for him elicits another whine. He doesn’t know if Jaskier understands he _wants_ to, would do anything he asked, it’s just that his body is failing him. It doesn't matter as Jaskier is easing him up to sitting, the rest of the straps undone and pulled from behind him before he’s gently laying Geralt back down. 

Jaskier starts to turn away, Geralt’s hand lashing out and capturing his, fear spiking in him at the thought of Jaskier leaving but no sooner has Jaskier turned back to him than Geralt realizes what he’s done and drops his hand. “Sorry.”

“I’m just going to put the brace away. I’ll be back. Is it ok if I sit with you?” Geralt knows he doesn’t deserve such excuses, that Jaskier shouldn’t have to twist his needs around so that Geralt can have what he so desperately wants at the expense of his dignity.

Geralt knows and still he says, “Of course.” 

Barely more than moments pass but if feels like longer as Geralt can’t see Jaskier and the fear stretches time out, taunting him that Jaskier had used it as an excuse to slip away, that he’s seen the same things in him his father did, weak and wanting, crying from needing and had realized he wasn’t worth it. 

“Here we are.” Jaskier’s words don’t make sense but Geralt doesn’t care because it means he’s _there_ , he didn’t leave or if he did he came back. Cool fingers graze Geralt’s stomach as Jaskier lifts the hem of his shirt, a warm weight conforming to the bloated swell as the soft scent of chamomile washing over him. Jaskier had gone and gotten one of the bean bags Geralt had gotten for him to help in the evening when his stomach was protesting the day’s food. 

The warmth spreads through Geralt’s body in increments, his fingers loosening from their grip on the sheets, shoulders dropping from where they’d been hunched until finally the persistent ache in his stomach eases as well. 

“I’ve put a message in to the doctor. I should’ve realized it sooner but it’s probably the pain meds messing with your system. I’ll see about getting you a different script.” Jaskier says from where he’d resumed his position leaning against the headboard, the hand not holding his phone absently carding through Geralt’s hair. 

“It’s fine. Not your fault.” Geralt says, hating the concern he’s etched there, the furrows deepened by the glow of his phone screen in the otherwise dim room. 

Blue eyes slide to his, “It’s ok to tell me when you’re not feeling great or need something.” 

There’s that doubt again, the one that Geralt can see without looking, knows how it edges around his words, the expectation and acceptance that no one will ask him for help because they don’t believe he’s able to provide any.

Geralt sifts among the tatters of his broken vow, looking for any bits he can piece back together, that he can wrap his actions in, that he can pretend this isn’t for himself but for Jaskier, to chase away those insecurities.

“I always need you.” With less care than he should, Geralt turns on his side, slipping his arm around Jaskier’s waist he uses his lap as a pillow, nuzzling the healing belly, knowing he would take the day’s pain over again if it meant Jaskier getting much needed food. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier yelps, Geralt’s body going rigid as rejection burns through him. Geralt tries to pull away but Jaskier’s hands are on him, keeping him close. “You need a pillow between your knees.” His words are gentle, taking the sting from the chastisement as he plucks Geralt’s abandoned pillow from the head of the bed and leans over Geralt who dutifully lifts his leg for Jaskier to tuck the pillow between. 

“I love you.” Geralt murmurs as sleep drags at him. He’d meant to thank Jaskier, to see if his touch had chased away the insecurities but Jaskier’s ministrations have done their job, for the first time in days Geralt’s pain has eased.

“No more than I love you.” Jaskier murmurs, readjusting the heated bean bag before he returns to smoothing back Geralt’s hair, the soothing motion lulling him to sleep. 

o~O~o

Jaskier jerks awake at the sound of his phone’s alarm, the bedroom dark around him save for the soft glow from the screen, fingers fumbling to shut it off, shaking too hard to work through the silencing mechanism on the first try. His eyes falling closed in what’s become almost a prayer ritual by now. Taking measured breaths he wills his heart to slow as he reminds himself _Geralt_ There’s _is_ been _beside_ an _you_ accident. 

He’ll open his eyes and he’ll be in their bedroom and Geralt will be beside him and it was just an alarm to make sure he didn’t miss a dose of medication. He’ll go downstairs and get the pills and a glass of water and Yennefer won’t be waiting at the door. 

Jaskier had considered just bringing the medications upstairs and lining them up in the spare room with his schedule of them but he knew Geralt would ask and he’d have to explain that he had yet another voice reigning in his head. 

With a final shaking breath, Jaskier’s thundering heartbeat no longer deafening, does he turn to Geralt but he doesn’t find the relief he’d been expecting. Geralt had settled on his back after nibbling at a light dinner, the heated rice bag tucked under his thin shirt in an effort to soothe the ensuing discomfort and had fallen asleep like that for the night. 

Lost in his own panic, Jaskier had been deaf to the soft whimpers escaping Geralt, his face contorted against horrors only he could see, tears pooling in the curl of his ear. 

Jaskier knew better than to startle Geralt awake, even wounded he could come up violent, _would_ since he was having a nightmare. Hoping to ground him while easing him awake, Jaskier trails his fingers up and down his arm, skin tacky from drying sweat and with mounting guilt he wonders how long Geralt had been caged in with his horrors. 

"Geralt," Jaskier starts, voice low. "Hey lover, you're safe, you're home with me." Geralt's brow twists, as though his voice is causing him more pain, but Jaskier doesn't stop, just keeps murmuring, stroking his arm while he fights his way back to him. With a gasp that Jaskier has no doubt is painful to his still tender ribs, Geralt comes awake, instinctually trying to curl upon himself, his hand spasming against the sheet as he tries to ground himself. 

"Hey, you're ok, you're right here." Jaskier curses his foolishness as Geralt's eyes search the dark room, eyes roving the shadowed shapes, pleading for something Jaskier can't make out. Hating to leave him even for a moment, Jaskier twists himself around, turning on the bedside lamp and bathing the room in its soft glow.

Jaskier is prepared this time when Geralt rolls onto his side, arms seeking his waist, drawing him closer, burying his face in Jaskier's stomach, tears hot through his thin nightshirt, _I'm sorry_ 's tripping over themselves, interspersed by gasped breaths. Jaskier knows his back and side has to be flaring with pain but he doesn't dare adjust in Geralt's grip lest he think he's being pushed away, instead he smooths back his damp hair with one hand, the other rubbing his upper back in what he hopes is soothing circles as he meets each apology with a gentle, "Shh, love. No reason to be sorry. I've got you." 

Slowly, Geralt's breaths even back out, his grip loosening and Jaskier thinks he's fallen back asleep until his rough voice asks, "What time is it?"

Jaskier winces as he looks at the clock, the glowing numbers indicating nearly an hour has passed, long past the time Geralt should have gotten his next dose of pain medications. "11:57."

If anything the news seems to upset Geralt more, pressing his face closer as though he can drown the world out in Jaskier.

"I know it's a bit late but I can get your pain meds and one of the ones to help you sleep." Jaskier offers, tucking the fallen hair behind Geralt's ear so he might see his face. He knows a shower would be best, clean and tucked back in bed, but the raw truth is that it takes more than either of them have in them after the fraught day. 

"No." Geralt's refusal is muffled, punctuated by a tightening grip as though he means to hold Jaskier in place, keeping him from straying further than he can see him. 

"I know they're making you sick but the doctor hasn't gotten back to me about a new script and we really shouldn't get you off schedule, it may only make things worse." Jaskier explains regretfully. As much as he didn't want another repeat of Geralt writhing in the bed, knowing all too well what that pain felt like and couldn't imagine having it corseted in, he feared a lapse would only exacerbate the problem.

The silence threatens to give way to an argument, Jaskier thinking how it will play out, what it will take to break through Geralt's stubborn streak, if he can live with the guilt of admitting how tired he is and selfishly wants Geralt to rest if only so he can as well. 

"I need to know they make it home." The words don't make any sense no matter how many times Jaskier turns them over, exchanges what he thinks he may have misheard for a likely substitute but still he can't work it out. 

Jaskier realizes his own silence has taken too long as Geralt starts to pull away. "I'll take them at two, they should be home by then. You don't have to stay up if you just..." Geralt swallows and Jaskier knows he's working himself towards admitting what he sees as a burden and spits, "Leave them on the nightstand." 

With a gentle grasp that can easily be broken, fearing restraining him will do more damage, Jaskier keeps Geralt from pulling away. "I just don't understand, we can wait until two for the sleep aid if you want, but _who_ makes it home." 

The dark had always been a comforting friend, one who borrowed your shames and fears, leaving a unique courage in place, an exchange to be made at morning's light. But in the silence strung between them, Jaskier realizes Geralt no longer finds solace in the night, it had bled from him that night on the road, cold and hurting and oh, so alone.

"Your family." Jaskier breathes, feeling silly for not having realized it sooner. The Wolf closed at one, the cleanup didn't usually take long and by two they should all be safely home and off the road. 

" _Our_." Geralt corrects, the tight hold he'd kept on Jaskier easing at his understanding. 

Jaskier smiles softly at the inclusion, but it doesn't last long as his fatigued mind pieces together what has his boyfriend so anxious. "Oh, love. Did you want to talk about it?"

He isn't surprised when Geralt shakes his head, Jaskier knows he might be able to coax it from him in the morning, or after they confirm everyone has made it home, but not now, when too many possibilities lurk in the dark corners, where the belief that, once spoken, Destiny may rise to the challenge.

"That’s ok." Jaskier murmurs, slipping from the bed only long enough to get the medications that had started this whole thing. Geralt grudgingly eats the peanut butter sandwich and sips the milk that accompanies the pills, pacing himself to Jaskier who was working at one of his own, before he's tucking himself back into Jaskier's side. 

With the soft glow from the bedside lamp, Jaskier props himself against the headboard, one hand carding through Geralt's hair as the other fans open the book he'd tucked under his arm on the way up. He knew neither of them were of a head space to follow their current book, but this was the first one Geralt had read to him and he hoped Geralt would take comfort in its pages as he did.

Unable to bear the sound of his alarm again, Jaskier keeps a careful eye on the time, setting the book aside as the one o'clock hour draws near. 

"I don't..." At Geralt's words Jaskier's attention lifts from where he'd been tapping out a message to the group chat. Guilt and shame tightening Geralt's already weary features.

"People show their love differently. Concern is a form of love. They won't be bothered and if it will help you rest, they would be more upset if we _didn't_ do it." Jaskier assures him, waiting until Geralt nods his assent before he finishes his message. 

“Just thinking about you tonight. Hope all is going well. Would you mind letting us know when you make it home safe?” Jaskier reads off, Geralt thinking over the message in which Jaskier had been careful to use _we_ , shouldering some of the guilt. Finally Geralt nods and with an uncalled for number of emojis, Jaskier sends the text, ensuring the volume is turned up before setting it to the side.

Geralt blinks tiredly, brow furrowing as he fights the sleep that pulls at him. It’s a testament to how tired he is that his hand drifts to his stomach, trying to soothe the ache Jaskier had hoped wouldn’t return at such bland fare.

“Want me to heat up the bag for you?” Jaskier asks, unable to stand seeing him in discomfort even if it meant a momentary embarrassment. 

Geralt shakes his head, Jaskier feeling the motion as much as seeing it, adding, “Don’t go.” Jaskier smiles softly at the plea, tucking the hair that had fallen over Geralt’s face behind his ear. Jaskier knows neither of them are really following the story, eyes burning at the thought of scanning the small print in the dim light.

“Don’t stop.” Geralt’s mumbled words are muffled, pressed close as he is.

“Don’t stop what, love?” Jaskier repeats the motion of tucking back hair, hoping to coax his wants from him. 

“Singing.” As though the admission were embarrassing, Geralt turns his face, trying to bury it deeper against Jaskier. It was a habit Jaskier wasn’t entirely aware of, humming or singing softly to himself but it was one of Geralt’s favorite things. 

“I should have known, my mom used to sing to me when I was sick.” Jaskier tells him, smiling faintly at the memories. Geralt tightens his hold, offering a comfort his pain clouded mind is unable to determine if truly needed.

Closing his eyes, Jaskier rests his head against the wall, letting one song drift into the next, the soothing motion of carding his fingers through Geralt’s hair lulling them both to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lovely reader pointed out to me that the last chapter was essentially 2k words of Geralt in utter agony and him laying down in the end is my idea of fluff. _side eyes upcoming chapter_ Ok, so clearly my definition of fluff is chilling out there with the bounds of my depravity.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was no way Geralt could wait at the hospital for news but he’d insist on going even though the car ride would leave him shaking and sick and that’s once they’ve found–

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are here! And you've never been more here than you are now! (Read it with a Dr. Suess voice, makes it more fun)  
> Hope you enjoyed your dose of fluff for this chapter! If you want to read it again it's handy to pad your feels with.  
> Huge thank you to VeritasRose for betaing and helping me get out of the many corners I write myself into.

The tinkling ringtone of his phone snaps them both awake, Jaskier hastily swiping open the notifications as golden eyes fight to focus on him. 

“Yennefer made it home. She said 'being sick isn’t an excuse to stay up to all hours'.” Jaskier reads aloud, the chiding having the intended effect of earning weak smiles. 

Triss’ own update follows minutes later with a bid to have a good night and a slew of heart emojis. Jaskier shows Geralt the screen ensuring he sees all the love she sent. 

The minutes stretch on long enough that Geralt finally asks what time it is and unease starts twisting in Jaskier’s stomach. He doesn’t have to ask to know what Geralt is thinking, that Lambert should have reported in by now.

His garage, and thus his house, were the closest to the Wolf out of all of them, even if he took a scenic route home he would’ve made it shortly after Yennefer or Triss.

Geralt pulls away from Jaskier, the area behind feeling so much colder with fear filing the space. Jaskier splits his gaze between Geralt and his phone, watching in flickering glances as Geralt moves to sitting, hand subconsciously pressed to his stomach, eyes playing out the horrors conjured in his dreams. 

“I’m sure he’s fine. Just stopped for dinner or his phone died.” Jaskier’s words sound false even to his own ears. Lambert would have eaten at the Wolf, especially after Jaskier’s text and even if his phone were dying, one of the girls always had a charger. No matter what excuse they clung to, both knew it wasn’t what had kept him from texting. 

“Why don’t I call him?” Jaskier taps through his phone, realizing only as he presses the speaker phone button that Geralt hadn’t protested.

With each ring, Geralt’s shoulders tighten, Jaskier jabbing the glaring _End Call_ icon when the automated voice clicks on. In the ensuing silence Geralt’s gasping breaths sound loud. 

“I nuh- _need_ to guh-ho.” Geralt swallows hard, willing the pain in his chest to ease, for the trembling that’s sending bolts of pain through his hip and ribs to release him.

Jaskier scrambles off the bed at his words, moving towards the door and the light switch beside it, thinking the dark is making things worse, but Geralt’s keening whine turns him back. As soon as he’s in reach, Geralt pulls him close, “Puh-lease don’t guh-ho.” Geralt bites out.

“I’m right here.” Jaskier assures, misunderstanding Geralt’s plea.

Geralt looks pained at Jaskier’s words, starting to protest but his breaths are still coming too fast and he knows he shouldn’t ask that of him anyway, the fear of the answer insignificant compared to the guilt Geralt knows will come at Jaskier’s insistence on keeping a vow he should never had made.

“I nuh-heed–” Geralt cuts himself off, lips clamped shut as he wills his body back under his command until he’s certain he won’t beg Jaskier not to abandon him for being weak and needing. 

“Shh, love. I know you want to go but that’s not a good idea.” Jaskier smooths his hand across Geralt’s shoulder blades, catching himself before he tells him he’s in no condition to be attempting stairs let alone a car ride Jaskier isn’t entirely sure he’s fit to be navigating.

Geralt’s breaths ratchet up, hands spasming where they hold Jaskier. “I’ll call Eskel.” Jaskier cringes, hoping he’s not multiplying the problem but _something_ needs to be done and this is their best bet.

Jaskier keeps one hand running across Geralt’s shoulders, hoping to ground him as he starts the call to Eskel. The first ring cuts through the room, momentarily drowning out Geralt’s hitching breaths, amping up as the next ring starts.

“Sorry. Almost there.” Eskel’s voice cuts off the nerve wracking tone, Geralt letting out a choked gasp. “Geralt? Jaskier?” Panic sharpens his words, turning their names into a bark.

“We’re here. We’re–” Jaskier can’t force himself to lie when it’s obvious they’re not, Geralt ‘s panting breaths punctuating the silences. “Lambert hasn’t checked in.”

“I’m on my way.” Eskel says without hesitation. Belatedly Jaskier understands Eskel’s words, if he wasn’t home himself but on the phone it meant he hadn’t taken his bike into work. Jaskier eyes Geralt, wondering if he’d had the same revelation and found any solace in it.

Geralt’s eyes are closed, features tense as he tries to reign in his panicked breaths, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Jaskier doesn’t know if hanging up would be better or worse, too many nights with interrupted sleep making reasoning near impossible.

“He’s gonna be ok.” Jaskier doesn’t realize he’s said the words aloud until Geralt jerks a nod in acknowledgement, the motion jarring to his own aching stomach but he’s grateful Geralt misses his wince.

“Idjit probably has his phone on silent.” Eskel growls, Geralt’s lips twitching in a momentary smile. 

Geralt’s fear is contagious and Jaskier’s previously unshakeable denial that anything _had_ happened was cracking. As though he knows Jaskier can't handle anymore, Eskel keeps talking. “This is it. We’re taking him in on Monday and getting that damned lojack put in. I’m calling the vet first thing.”

Though it’s barely noticeable, Geralt’s breaths come easier, his shoulders dropping a bit from where they’ve been slowly inching up. 

“You missed a good one tonight, group of college kids swaggered in like they owned the place. One even had the balls to hit on Yennefer with such a terrible line she took back the beer she’d just poured him and dumped it out, didn’t blink or say anything the whole time.” The smile in Eskel’s voice comes through, Geralt’s next breath a shaky huff. 

“Sorry we missed that.” Jaskier says, Geralt nodding against his hip where he’s still holding him close. 

Eskel lets out a curse Jaskier is certain he didn’t mean for them to hear, Geralt’s breaths coming in hot bursts against his stomach where his shirt had ridden up. The sound of a car door slamming is followed by silence, Jaskier’s own tenuous hold slipping as possibilities fill his mind.

There was no way Geralt could wait at the hospital for news but he’d insist on going even though the car ride would leave him shaking and sick and that’s once they’ve found–

Jaskier’s thoughts are snapped out of figuring out what to do by the dull thuds of pounding on a door, Eskel barking, “ _Lambert!_ ”

Geralt’s breathing fills the silence, Jaskier’s teeth clacking as he gates the scathing request for him to _be quiet_ , as though he’ll be able to discern anything from the silence. 

Eskel’s voice sounds far away, like he’d pulled the phone from his ear though the bellow of Lambert’s name is unmistakable. But the door must open as the repeated call gives way to, “The _fuck_ is wrong with you?” 

“Asks the one banging down my door in the middle of the night.” Lambert snaps back, Jaskier debating whether he should say something, if they’ve been forgotten. 

“You didn’t check in.” Eskel hisses.

“Sorry warden.” Lambert snarks and Jaskier can practically feel the exasperation and frustration from Eskel coming down the line.

“You want to tell that to your _brother_ who is–” Eskel cuts himself off but the implication is loud and clear. Geralt twitches and only Jaskier’s hand on his back keeps him from pulling away. 

“Shit.” There’s the uncomfortable sound of a phone being passed before Lambert's, “G?” With such hesitation in his voice.

“Sor-hee.” Geralt’s mouth twists to a frustrated line, his chest heaving as he fights the vestiges of his panic attack.

“No, I’m... _fuck_.” Lambert sighs. “I didn’t think you meant...thought it was for the girls. I’m sorry. I’m safe. I’ll even keep ‘Skel here. Ok? Don’t worry ‘bout us.” 

Geralt lets out a shaky breath, the panic and fear that had animated his weary body fleeing as relief washes over him. “I doubt he’ll ever stop worrying about you but thank you for letting us know you’re both safe for the night.” Jaskier says when he’s fairly certain Geralt doesn’t have it in him to fight for any more words.

“If you’re up for it, why don’t we do dinner? Your place and we’ll bring all the stuff.” Eskel’s voice is there, tempering the panic with a plan to gather together. 

Jaskier studies Geralt, leaving it up to him if he’s feeling up for visitors, watching the war play out as he scrambles for an acceptable answer quickly. He _wants_ to see his family, but he doesn’t want them to see him little more than shuffling around, curled over his cramping stomach and all because he had a nightmare and panicked and now they feel obligated.

“It’s ok if you don’t feel–” Eskel’s there with a gentle excuse, but before he can finish it Lambert cuts him off. “Best get dolled up pretty boy, we’ll see you later.” 

Geralt huffs what Jaskier hopes is a laugh and not a sigh of acceptance but it’s followed soon enough by a small nod and a tired smile. “Sounds good.” Jaskier confirms. With that the call ends and Jaskier returns the phone to the nightstand, limbs heavy and eyes grimy but sleep will have to wait.

“Alright, love, let’s go to bed.” Jaskier says, easing himself from Geralt’s grip who reluctantly lets him go. Jaskier makes it halfway down the stairs before his foot slips, his hand lashing out and catching on the railing, jerking him awake once more he takes a steadying breath and forces his eyes open for the remaining stairs.

After checking the label three times, not quite trusting himself to not accidentally overdose Geralt, he fills a glass with water and carries the medications upstairs, Geralt dutifully waiting where he’d left him on the side of the bed. It’s a testament to how embarrassed he feels that Geralt accepts them, washing them down without so much as a grimace and Jaskier wishes he would have if only so he didn’t have to worry about this as well.

Geralt silently passes Jaskier the water back, not daring to try and stretch for the nightstand and the pain or the furrow of disappointment to Jaskier’s brow it would bring. By the time Jaskier returns from the bathroom, glass left on the counter, Geralt has rearranged himself decidedly on his side of the bed, all that’s needed is the pillow under his calves.

Jaskier dutifully places it before circling around to the other side of the bed, pausing a moment and watching Geralt who is resolutely staring at the ceiling, it was no hard feat to know his wolf was embarrassed about his behavior tonight.

Careful so as not to jostle him, Jaskier eases himself onto the bed, tucking himself into Geralt’s side in increments, checking each motion doesn’t do harm before moving closer.

It’s not as smooth as it was mere weeks ago, but Jaskier manages to get them pressed together, resting his head on the nook of Geralt’s shoulder and chest. “Thank you for letting me in.” Jaskier whispers, hoping the acknowledgement doesn’t break the spell the night had cast and lent Geralt the bravery he needed to do so.

Jaskier blinks back the tears that threaten in the ensuing silence, the fear clawing away that he had ruined this little bit Geralt had shared with him tonight, when Geralt’s hoarse murmur rumbles through his chest. “Thank you for not leaving.” 

Though he wants to push up onto his side and study Geralt’s features, ask a multitude of questions Jaskier also knows _that_ was more of an admittance than anything else and knows better than most where such a belief stems from. And so he presses infinitesimally closer to Geralt, whispering, “All my nights, love.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you look at that (you may need to lean in and squint) but there was fluff AND family feels AND Geralt let Jaskier in (Commence squinting?).  
> Thank you so much for reading and another huge thank you for commenting. They seriously brighten my days and I read them over and over.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shame propels Jaskier from bed, Geralt deserved so much better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh this is so exciting that you're here! Not only are you still reading (which I greatly appreciate) but there's a bit of backstory in here I have been so very excited to share with you!  
> A huge thank you to VeritasRose who spent hours the other night revising our timeline for the umpteenth time.

Jaskier wakes to the alarm he forgot to reset, grimy, burning eyes cracking open just long enough to shut it off before his hand drops back to the bed. For the briefest of moments, Jaskier wishes he didn’t have to face the day ahead of him, could get up and go to the museum and just be normal. But no sooner has the desire crossed his mind than Jaskier feels wretched. 

How often had Geralt thought the same thing about him? Wishing he didn’t have to waste his evening rubbing his boyfriend’s stuffed gut and murmuring reassurances as he fought not to cry over failings wrought by his own hand. Jaskier doubted Geralt ever thought such things because Geralt wasn’t selfish, he’d been so worried about his family he stayed up and in pain just to make sure they got home ok.

And though Jaskier had been conditioned to doubt, he believed Geralt’s words contained nothing but love and truth. No matter how many times he had to remind Jaskier and here, not even a week home and already he wanted it to be over so _he_ wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore. 

Shame propels Jaskier from bed. Geralt deserved so much better but more than that, Jaskier couldn’t let him ever see this moment of weakness. He would be better, would care for Geralt as he deserved and because it’s what you do for those you love.

With a measured look at Geralt, Jaskier slips from their bedroom, there was no telling how long the sleeping medicine would keep him out, but the last thing Jaskier wanted was Geralt to wake to an empty bed and try to venture down. Or worse, think Jaskier had left him. 

Jaskier wasn’t sure if it was just the nightmares that had made Geralt clingy, but there was something in the way he clung to Jaskier, in the plea, that made him think there was more to it. 

Creeping back into the room, Jaskier retrieves his phone, setting a recurring timer for every five minutes, reasoning that's often enough he should catch Geralt when he's starting to wake or shortly after he does. Tucking his phone in his sleep pant's pocket, he pads down the stairs, scrubbing his face as though he can brush the tiredness away. 

Their family was coming over tonight and the house, which he'd been neglecting anyway, desperately needed to be cleaned. Jaskier eyes the living room as he descends the stairs, the dust edging from the walls like the remnants of a low tide dust wave.

Wavering in the kitchen, Jaskier eyes the couple loads of laundry that needed doing and reminding him the bed would need new sheets after Geralt's panic last night had left him sticky with sweat. With a silent vow that he would start the dishes next, days worth spreading across the counter from the overfull sink, Jaskier ducks into the laundry room. 

Making a mental note to order another set of the incredibly soft sheets he'd gotten Geralt for Valentine's day, Jaskier falters, he didn't exactly have an income and he shouldn't be wasting what money he'd saved on buying frivolous things like sheets just so he wouldn't have to do laundry so often. No, he would wash this set and while Geralt was in the shower he would put on the Valentine's sheets, those would be most comfortable on Geralt's still healing back.

Jaskier starts at his timer going off, sounding loud in the small room as the sheet slips from his fingers, only half in the open washer. Hesitating, he eyes the washer but getting the wash started is insignificant to Geralt panicking because he wanted to get his chores done a little faster.

Quick steps carry Jaskier to the stairs, his phone silenced before he heads up them, lingering in the doorway until his eyes adjust to the dark he watches the steady rise and fall of Geralt's chest, waits for him to be noticed but when no acknowledgement comes Jaskier retreats back downstairs. 

Timer reset he dashes back to the laundry room, sheets stuffed in and detergent too hastily measured, blue, syrupy liquid trickles over his fingers as he starts the cycle. Moving to the kitchen Jaskier rinses his fingers as he waits for the water to run hot, a familiar weariness creeping through his limbs, one that used to signal victory, now an unwanted reminder that breakfast is expected.

Jaskier's mind wars with itself, offering up that dinner hadn't been much, a peanut butter sandwich, which meant the gnawing hunger was to be expected; but there was a time that the same sandwich would be more than enough, too much if it wasn't open-faced. The water turns from lukewarm to hot, curls of steam drifting up makes the decision for him, he would do the dishes and _then_ have breakfast. He should really wait for Geralt anyway, he didn't want him worrying that he wasn't eating and he certainly didn't need two breakfasts. 

The sink is too full to wash any dishes in it and with a frustrated sigh Jaskier slaps off the faucet off and starts the intricate process of unstacking the tangled tower of dishes, dumping the water into the sink without it splashing all over and, most importantly, not making any noise. 

At the sound of his timer Jaskier jerks, their bowls from lunch slipping from his wet grip and crack against the sink wall, freezing him as he strains to hear for any indication he's woken Geralt. When none comes he resettles the bowls in the sink, swiping his fingers on a dishtowel he hurries to silence his phone as he heads for the stairs once more.

Jaskier gets through two more rounds of this, a small dent made in the pile of dishes, fighting back tears of frustration when he realizes he'd never stored the leftover casserole after lunch and has to scrape meal's worth into the trash, before Geralt finally wakes. Jaskier had trudged up the stairs, leaning against the doorframe as he squinted into the dark only to find the bed empty, a momentary panic speeding his pulse before the sound of the toilet flushing drew his attention to the closed bathroom door.

Realizing he needs an excuse to have been absent from bed when Geralt returns, Jaskier pads down the steps as quickly as he can, trying to keep his footsteps from sounding. Fingers clumsy with haste, Jaskier flips through the pages of his notebook, trying to get back to the section titled _Morning Meds_ and his carefully drawn checklist, the boxes following the day's date blank. 

With a steadying breath, Jaskier doles out the medications, the antibiotics meant to chase any lingering infections from his road rash and surgeries, pain pills and anti-inflammatories and another that Jaskier's tired mind can't recall but knows it's on the list so it must be important.

Belatedly remembering the small dish he normally transports the pills on is still up on the nightstand from last night's dose, Jaskier turns to the cabinets, searching out another of the little condiment bowls, figuring he should wash the other anyway. With a glass of mostly lukewarm water, Jaskier heads up the stairs, trying to smooth out his breathing as his body protests its lack of sustenance.

Geralt is leaning in the bathroom doorway, dark smudges under his eyes letting Jaskier know the sleeping aid was less aidful than hoped but it's the dropping of his shoulders, a sigh of relief at the arrival of Jaskier that assures him he wasn't foolish in his timer theatrics. 

"Good morning, Jaskier." Though the words are laden with a bone-deep weariness, it doesn't fail to pull that shy, crooked smile to Jaskier's lips, his head ducking before he's meeting golden eyes. "Good morning, Geralt." 

Moving closer, Geralt bypasses the offered glass and dish in favor of Jaskier's hip, tugging him close, he presses a kiss, Jaskier leaning into the hold, not minding that his stomach presses into Geralt's, finding only solace in the sacred ritual. For all that Jaskier wants to stay as they are, he knows that's not an option and so, with reluctance, he drops back down, offering up the pills and water.

Geralt glances at them, protest in his eyes but with a soft grunt he accepts them, tossing back the tablets and washing them down with a blank expression. Jaskier waits, knowing in that undefinable way that Geralt wants to say something but isn't sure how it will be received, so Jaskier gives him all the time he needs. 

"I was gonna shower." Geralt says slowly, measuring out the words as he studies Jaskier's reaction. 

"We'll have breakfast when you're done." Jaskier offers, hating that it sounds inane but knows better than to blatantly acknowledge the shame behind changing the sheets. Geralt grimaces, hand drifting protectively to his belly, answering Jaskier's unspoken concern. 

"It needs to be taken with food." Jaskier offers, Geralt's brow furrowing as he tries to understand. "I didn't bring it with the others, since it's supposed to be taken with food. Figured you could have it with breakfast." It was the one blank square on this morning's line, the notebook still pinned open to that spread instead of turned to the afternoon’s rations.

"Breakfast then." Geralt declares, the words more for himself than Jaskier, though the latter takes it as a gentle reminder it _will_ be occurring. Jaskier's cheeks burn under the mistaken chiding. 

"Go ahead and get started, I'll lay some clothes out on the counter for you." Jaskier informs him, already turning away.

"Jaskier–" Geralt starts.

"It will take longer with the walker." It's the ultimatum that edges those words, the underlying reminder of their argument, as though Geralt could have forgotten.

"Thank you." Geralt says instead, trying to imbue it with as much appreciation as he feels and hopes Jaskier doesn't find anything else in the words.

As though he's been given something more than yet another burden, Jaskier smiles, the clink of glass and dish meeting dresser chase Geralt deeper into the bathroom. 

Jaskier makes short work of collecting clothes for Geralt, steam escaping the warming bathroom when he slips inside to leave them on the counter. He lingers a moment, admiring his boyfriend but more than that taking a moment to check over the bruising that has swirled into a putrid mix of color, creeping over his hip, mottled by the grated skin, mostly healed thanks to his leathers.

It's only when Geralt shifts, not exactly moving towards the shower but the need to shield oneself obvious, does Jaskier catch himself, he knew better and yet here he was, staring. "Just drinking in the sight of my gorgeous boyfriend." Jaskier says, the admittance easy and though it's barely discernible, there's the smallest bit of acceptance in Geralt's features, a hope holding the words close, willing them to be true.

"I'm leaving, but _only_ before we do something the doctor would be disappointed in us for and probably hurt you." Geralt laughs softly, a sound Jaskier adores and is ecstatic when he's the one that earns it.

Jaskier wastes no time in stripping the bed, retrieving sheets from a dwindling supply in the spare room's dresser, he keeps one ear tuned to the bathroom for any indication Geralt needs help. Gathering up the dirty bedclothes, Jaskier casts a last glance at the bathroom door, weighing the cost of a blow to Geralt's pride to find him dutifully sitting outside the door and heading back downstairs. 

Knowing if he's quick enough he can make it back upstairs with breakfast before Geralt has a chance to attempt to come down sets him moving. With a glance at the washer he finds nearly an hour still left before the first load is done before dumping the sheets on the growing pile. 

Stepping back into the kitchen Jaskier eyes the dishes, knowing he needs to keep Geralt from coming downstairs until he gets them washed and with a new frenzy he yanks open the fridge only to be faced with the same disheartening view that's greeted him for days. The few dishes Jaskier knows how to prepare that turn out better than barely edible are becoming more scarce as their supplies dwindle. It's all too tempting to close the door and lose himself in the satisfying task of doing dishes, a problem he knows exactly how to solve but _Geralt_ needs to eat and so he's left with no choice. 

Scanning the contents Jaskier rules out anything that isn't breakfast adjacent, the last thing he wants is Geralt to worry about trying to go to the store, something Jaskier struggled with on even his best days still. But he would do it because it needed to be done, _Geralt_ needed it to be done and maybe he could go while the others were there, surely they wouldn't mind if he slipped out for an hour. 

Jaskier shoves aside the dread that starts creeping in at the thought of having to write out a list, of getting extra so he can put off going again so soon, spending money they don't have on food he doesn't need. With a steadying breath Jaskier reminds himself he can do this, he _was_ doing this.

The carton of eggs is concerningly light when Jaskier picks it up but the milk doesn't expire for two days yet and he's seen Geralt add it to the mix when making scrambled eggs. Grabbing out cheese and hot sauce Jaskier takes his little bounty to the counter by the stove, setting a skillet warming as he heads for the pantry. The bread had gone moldy and the flare of panic is tempered by the nearby pancake box, those Jaskier could do. 

Though it takes longer than he'd hoped, Jaskier manages to get the eggs mixed and cooking while he starts on the pancakes, eyes sliding to the dishes again and again. His mom always had a way of managing whatever she had cooking and doing the dishes, a skill Geralt had as well and one he wishes he'd mastered.

By the time breakfast is ready it's a scant few hours before he'll have to do it all over again with lunch, a battle Jaskier sets aside as he fills Geralt's plate. He makes it nearly to the stairs before he remembers he forgot the final medication and now _both_ condiment cups upstairs along with the water glass. Turning back Jaskier debates using yet another of the dishes before deciding against it, it was just one pill and with that he carefully places it in the center of the top pancake, chuckling at the presentation it creates. 

As Jaskier makes his way up, he's grateful Geralt hadn't insisted, or even tried, to come down, he didn't need to see the disarray his house had fallen into under Jaskier's hand. Instead, he finds him sitting on the side of the bed, wet hair darkening the shoulders of his t-shirt, turning at the sound of his approach his smile falters.

"Did you already eat?" Geralt winces at the unintended accusation.

"No? Oh." Jaskier tries to laugh it off, make it sound like he just forgot it when really he was hoping Geralt wouldn't notice. Jaskier passes him the plate, debating whether he needs to point out the medication but Geralt plucks it, murmuring a thanks before dry swallowing it.

Jaskier's plate feels heavier than he knows it should, the side of guilt served with his threatening to snap the dish in his grip as he trudges back upstairs, the syrup dangling from his other hand, certain Geralt will want it. Geralt waits exactly as he'd been, food untouched, waiting for Jaskier to join him and without comment Jaskier perches beside him on the bed, fighting to keep as much weight off the mattress as he can lest he send Geralt tipping into him.

"Forgot this on the first go." Jaskier says, holding out the liquid sugar, Geralt taking it after a pause, one Jaskier follows to his own plate and the considerably smaller portion. They hadn't had enough eggs for two servings but he knew Geralt wouldn't let him get away with none so he had a few forkfuls worth on his plate, pancakes spread out instead of stacked to fill the empty space.

With one hand, Geralt thumbs open the cap, drizzling his pancakes before offering the bottle to Jaskier who swallows down his decline with a bite of dry pancake. He doesn't need to worry Geralt anymore than he knows he already is. With that wry thought he mimics Geralt's allowance, purposely getting some on the plate rather than the food itself, less he has to consume. 

Geralt hums his pleasure. "It's good Jaskier, thank you." Jaskier ducks his head, taking another bite of egg and relishing the praise. He knew it wasn't up to his usual fare but even he could admit it wasn't half bad. 

They finish their breakfast in silence, Geralt slowing towards the end, and Jaskier fears the drugs are worsening the pain in his stomach but Geralt doesn't stop eating so neither does Jaskier. Only when both their plates are cleared does Jaskier rise, holding his hand out for Geralt who doesn't readily give his up.

"I was going to come downstairs closer to dinner. I'll help you with the dishes then." Geralt says, finally holding the plate out.

Jaskier can't help it, he flinches. Of course Geralt knew he was falling behind and he was still offering to help even though at most he should be walking, let alone the pain standing that long in one spot would cause for his hip or his surely aching belly. 

"That's ok. I've got them." Jaskier knows his voice is too chipper but Geralt doesn't protest, knowing he won't make it to the kitchen if Jaskier doesn't want him to so he'll bide his time.

“Can they wait?” Geralt hadn’t missed the meager amount Jaskier had taken, nor the dark smudges under his tired blue eyes. 

The plea from last night echoes in the words, the fear lingering even in the light of day. “Of course. I’ll put these to soak.” Jaskier tells him, stacking the plate on his own before heading to the kitchen once more. 

True to his words, Jaskier places them in the sink, letting the water run and hating that he’s grateful Geralt is unable to come down. 

The distinct sound of the washer going off reaches Jaskier as he takes the top step, Geralt turning towards him at the frustrated sigh that slips free. Jaskier can’t stand the thought of trekking downstairs once more and with a promise to use it as an excuse to go down later and work at the dishes while he’s at it, Jaskier continues on.

“Brace?” Jaskier asks, thoughts still on chores making the word colder than he intends. “Sorry.” Jaskier says, hoping to tempter the bite. Geralt frowns at him, worried, and Jaskier knows the answer even before Geralt says it, a hand protectively splayed. “We’ll put it on later, before they come.”

Geralt nods and something in the motion draws Jaskier to him, lightly resting his hands on Jaskier’s hips, Geralt’s thumbs rub absent circles. Jaskier waits, thinking Geralt will talk about last night, apologize for a perceived weakness, but Jaskier isn’t prepared for Geralt to say, “I need to tell you something, Jaskier.” 

Breakfast threatens in the back of his throat, tears Jaskier isn’t sure he can contain burn his eyes. Unable to speak and risk losing his tenuous hold, Jaskier nods.

Geralt frowns, concern pulling his features and Jaskier fears he’s changed his mind but with a resigned sigh Geralt meets his eyes and says, “I have curly hair.”

A weighted silence fills the space between them, finally broken by Jaskier’s barked, “What?”

Geralt winces, gaze sliding off Jaskier as his hands drop from his waist, forearms coming to rest on his knees. “I have naturally curly hair and I've been straightening it for…” Geralt gestures away the time, rendered unimportant at Jaskier’ poorly contained giggles. Geralt’s shoulders hunch, realizing too late the mistake he’d made in finally washing his hair properly and not straightening it from wet or braiding it back again.

“Oh, love.” Jaskier sobers quickly at the absolutely dejected look, cupping Geralt’s chin he tilts his head back. “With how serious you were I expected the worst.” Color blooms on Geralt’s cheeks, he’d scared Jaskier all for a bit of vanity.

“What kind of curls are we talking? Full on ringlets? Or that crimped look? Oh! Spirals?” Jaskier twirls his finger as though Geralt needed an example.

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s exasperation is undermined by his relief, momentarily forgetting the stressors of the morning. 

Geralt gets himself arranged in bed as Jaskier tries, and fails, to not look like he’s not hovering. Only once Geralt has assured he doesn’t want the rice bag warmed, Jaskier guiltily relieved, does he join him in bed.

Geralt tugs him down, tucking Jaskier into his side he absently strokes his upper arm but one question still burns at Jaskier and so he asks. “ _Why_ did you hide it from me?”

If Jaskier weren’t pressed so close he wouldn’t have felt Geralt tense, would have mistaken his hand trailing down his arm as another caress rather than the fall it was. The offer that he doesn’t need to say it lines up on Jaskier’s tongue but leading it is shame that Geralt doesn’t _have_ to because it was just the question you were expected to ask and didn't necessarily really want to know the answer.

“I was,” Geralt starts, the shame heavy on his tongue. “A fat kid. Cherubic cheeks and curly, white-blonde hair. Everyone called me Angel.” 

“Oh.” Jaskier’s voice is tight and Geralt wishes he’d never answered, had kept this tucked away with so much else.

“Jask,” Geralt starts, but Jaskier shakes his head, twisting to look at Geralt so he knows the words are true and not just him alleviating guilt.

“Kids are mean.” Geralt huffs a laugh at the understatement. “So you started straightening it?”

Geralt gets a distant look, recalling memories he's not thought about in a long time. “Not at first, no. Triss loved it, would tell anybody off who dared say otherwise and at that age girls love to play with long hair.” Jaskier’s grin widens, picturing a tiny Geralt surrounded by girls fawning over him, Triss his protector.

“I hit a growth spurt and lost most of the puppy fat. Foster homes took care of the rest, leaned us both down.” Geralt frowns with a pain Jaskier is all too familiar with.

“They can’t do that.” Jaskier protests.

“They can do whatever they want.” Geralt waves away that particular line of questioning, he wouldn’t ruin Jaskier’s fun. “Most of the families that took us in had at least one other girl who had a straightener and didn’t mind sharing. Otherwise, Triss borrowed one from someone at school who wished their boyfriend let them do their hair.” 

“Boyfriend huh?” Jaskier had never asked if Geralt was strictly male oriented for his partners, his tone teasing, grin growing at Geralt’s arched brow. 

“I had other battles to fight. Kept unwanted attention off her and people just assumed, we got tired of correcting them and making it seem like we were trying to hide something.“ The shrug is apparent in his tone.

“Hide something by denying you were dating?” Jaskier scoffs at the absurdity.

There’s a pause where Jaskier fears his casual comment has silenced Geralt but finally he says, “Thought we were witches. You’ve seen how she dresses. Used to braid flowers into her hair, or wear them as a crown. They were convinced a spell gone wrong had turned my hair white.” 

“Her white witch.” Jaskier hums.

“Witcher.” At that Jaskier does prop himself up, staring at Geralt with an intensity that makes Geralt want to hide, as though he’d just learned some wondrous secret and Geralt realizes maybe he has.

Jaskier settles back into his side, Geralt resuming his absent ministrations, a new facet to what he’s a part of, of the legacy they shoulder.

The fraught night catches up to them in the calm silence and though neither means to, the haven of each other’s arms lulls them to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the end of chapters like these I find myself checking the couch cushions of my brain looking for the misplaced angst. Surely there was more, I just seemed to have left it in another chapter.  
> Also, I may have been a little bit ecstatic when I unintentionally figured out lore for how the Witchers came by their name.  
> Thank you for reading! You know I love reading what you thought!


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This shouldn’t hurt, not after all these years, not when he knew it was a matter of if, not when. Geralt should be grateful they kept him around this long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! _passes out mouth guards_ If you'd like to just go ahead and pop that in while I give a big thanks to _you_ for reading and another to the wonderful VeritasRose for betaing!  
> Alright, I'll take your muffled questions about the guards as your readiness to read. Shall we...

“Sure. Eskel...just be careful.” The tone gives Jaskier a good idea of what happened and why but he’s not prepared for the absolutely dejected Geralt that’s sitting on the side of the bed.

Jaskier knows Geralt would prefer a moment or five alone but he can’t manage turning around on the steps with the heavy tray. He can’t reverse, but he can give Geralt silence.

Setting the tray at the foot of the bed, Jaskier selects Geralt’s bowl and the accompanying meds, Geralt accepting both automatically. He doesn’t comment on the spaghetti Jaskier made, just absently takes one bit after another, Jaskier stealing glances and wishing he’d say anything. Even if it were only to note he’d burned the hamburger.

It was nowhere near as good as when Geralt made it but Jaskier hoped the frozen garlic bread would be a good cleanser to follow his attempt at lunch.

“They got a Witcher call. Won’t make it to dinner.” Geralt states, the words not his own. 

Jaskier nods, that makes sense with what he’d overheard but not why Geralt is so upset. “They’ll be fine. I’m sure Lambert will be with Eskel and they can call in other chapters if they need help.” 

Geralt nods but it’s not the acceptance of a fear quelled and Jaskier thinks how foolish he must sound, blathering empty platitudes of things Geralt surely already thought of, knew when he’d bid Eskel to be careful.

Jaskier picks at his own lunch, hardly any sauce or meat, too much needing to be done to risk hurting. Then there was dinner and his grocery trip that was over before it could start, but the relief Jaskier expected is absent and in its place more stress comes.

He knew he was going to have to tell Geralt, maybe if he made the list the actual shopping would be easier and surely Geralt would be ok on his own. Jaskier knew there were directions for how long following the surgery until Geralt could be left alone, he’d just have to reread them.

“Thank you, Jaskier. I’ll still help with the dishes.” Geralt pauses, swallowing hard. “Later.” 

“Oh, that’s ok. I’ve got them, you’re supposed to be resting up.” Jaskier says, all too happy to stack Geralt’s bowl in his, hiding his leftovers. Geralt nods, but Jaskier has a feeling he didn’t quite hear what he said. With dishes in hand Jaskier heads downstairs, leaving Geralt sitting on the edge of the bed.

Geralt hadn’t tasted lunch, couldn’t tell you what Jaskier had put before him, mind turning Eskel’s words over and over. This shouldn’t hurt, not after all these years, not when he knew it was a matter of if, not when. He should be grateful they kept him around this long.

A sharp pain threatens to double Geralt over and he regrets taking the medicine, certain the pain from his hip and back would be nothing compared to the gnawing agony those pills bring. Knowing he needs to get himself sorted before Jaskier comes back and he becomes even more of a burden, Geralt gives into his body's desire to curl up, following the strategic motions to get himself lying down.

Any hope he'd had that changing positions would improve things is quickly dashed. Pains that steal his breath and make his mouth water urge him back up but he fears moving will only make the pains worse. Taking careful breaths through his nose, Geralt wills the nausea swimming through him to abate but a retch carried on lunch sends him carelessly to his feet, a pained gasp choked off as he fights to keep from making a mess he has no hopes of cleaning. 

Geralt staggers towards the bathroom, jaw clenched, silently begging his body to hold out just a few more steps. He's barely at the counter, vision whiting out as he heaves, lunch splattering in the sink as his ribs join the fire radiating from his back. Though he fights the next bout of sickness, he's helpless to stop it, the tenuous hold he'd had on the pain slips, too many things failing in his body to keep his grasp.

"Geralt!" Jaskier's yelp startles Geralt, hands slipping from where they're holding him up, his apology and plea lost to the all consuming brightness that steals his vision as his hip protests the jarring movement, cool fingers keeping him steady as another heave threatens to break him apart.

Understanding fingers gather back his hair, and though he knows that's not why they're there, Geralt leans into the relief their chill brings. Jaskier stays with him, propping him up when his leg starts trembling, sending lightning shocks between his back and hip, protesting the angle Geralt inadvertently locked himself into.

Only when his body has nothing left to offer, dry heaves that serve only to trigger another from the jarring of his ribs, does Jaskier ease him up. Geralt doesn't make it past the bathroom door, leaning against it, Jaskier at his side, the evidence of his broken promise waits across from them. 

"I'm sorry. I couldn't..." Geralt's voice is rough, the lingering burn of acid unable to be soothed by sour spit. 

"I'm not upset, just worried about you." Jaskier means the words to be comforting but Geralt shrinks under them, cowering back as though he'd been struck.

Sooner than Jaskier is certain he's ready to, Geralt makes for the bed, Jaskier hovering at his side but afraid to touch, recognizing he'd unknowingly ventured into a minefield once more. 

"Hang on, let's get you out of that. You'll feel better." Jaskier's words stop Geralt, hesitant fingers rolling up the hem of his shirt, the motion drawing Geralt's attention to the bits of sick dotting him. He hadn't missed the fresh sheets, nor that they were the incredibly soft ones Jaskier had gotten for him specifically and here he'd been about to ruin them and create yet another mess for Jaskier to clean.

Geralt can't help but think how this is a cruel parody of earlier, when Jaskier had looked him over with such care and love in his eyes, a want edging his smile that promised all manner of things once Geralt was no longer hurting. Now, mere hours later, he could barely stand, the pain meds serving only to dull the agony they wrought, reverting him to the shaking, spent mess he was in the middle of the night.

No sooner is he freed from the shirt then Geralt is dropping to the bed, having no hope of making it to the closet or dresser for another shirt he can't bring himself to trouble Jaskier, finding no point in hiding when his ruined body is the least shameful thing about him anymore. Geralt realizes his mistake too late, having sat down on what used to be his side of the bed, his breath stolen from his lungs by a pained wheeze, strong hands easing him over onto his back but Geralt can't stand to be laid bare, and turns onto his good side, drawing his knees up.

"You can't, come on now." Jaskier's words are low, rearranging him into one of the positions approved by the discharge papers before he's easing himself onto the bed before him, laying down so they're face to face.

"Talk to me, love." Jaskier implores, lightly twisting a curl around his finger, loosing it only once he's tucked it back behind his ear, giving him a better view of his boyfriend's face. Jaskier knows there's something eating away at Geralt, something that had shaken him, had stolen the morning's reprieve delivered on curly locks.

Geralt doesn't say anything, only has that same unnerving look that tells Jaskier his mind is picking at him, whispering things that are better not listened to but have a way of tucking themselves between other, longer held beliefs as though they'd been there the whole time. 

"Is it the call?" Jaskier knows he's said the wrong thing dressed up in the right answer, Geralt's body involuntarily trying to curl upon itself. Jaskier fears offering anymore empty platitudes, ones that are more hope that they'll be fine than the guarantee he wishes he could promise.

When the silence has dragged on long enough Jaskier knows Geralt's voice has been stolen by the untruths plaguing his mind. Just when he's recalling the lyrics to a song he hopes will encourage him to sleep if not to speak, Geralt murmurs, "I shouldn't have called them last night." 

_What_ burns on Jaskier's tongue, though he's heard perfectly fine he doesn't understand, but Jaskier has learned waiting out the silence Geralt needs is a grace few afford him. Without a word he rests his hand on Geralt's pillow, fingers playing with his hair, the motion relaxing the tension pulling his weary features.

"I shouldn't burden them more." Jaskier's hand falters at Geralt's words and for once, Jaskier can't fathom any words, helplessly blinking as Geralt takes his silence as confirmation. 

"You're not," Jaskier pauses, softening his words." You're not a burden. I'm sure they don't see it that way." 

"They have to run the Wolf and now field Witcher calls." Geralt argues, his eyes trained on Jaskier's sleep pants covered knee. Then softer, "You're trapped here caring for me."

Pain seizes Jaskier, it hadn't gone well when Geralt had been informed about what Macee had done for them but now Jaskier wonders if his discontent has been apparent, if Geralt has seen nothing but annoyance when Jaskier looked upon him. But the reasonable part of Jaskier, the one that his found family had fostered all these months, chides him, reminds him how the mind twists things.

"I'm sure they don't see it that way, you help family when they need it. It would be no different if you filled in for one of them." Jaskier reasons, Geralt looking unmoved. " _I_ don't think you're a burden. You didn't see _me_ as one." 

"You were worth keeping." Geralt whispers. Jaskier understands this fear, one that never fails to taunt when things are the hardest, when you require yet more on top of all that has already been given but there's not enough left of you to return.

"Whoever told you that is wrong and doesn't deserve to have you in their life." Jaskier says with an air of finality, words his mother had graced his wounded heart with many a time.

"My mother. Then after she left, my father." Geralt's words are hollow. Nothing Valdo had ever done to him compared to the hurt Jaskier was feeling.

Jaskier knew Geralt had grown up in foster and that's where he met Triss, but that was information pieced together from other conversations, casual remarks tucked in around the edges, not meant to be prised apart. It wasn't that Jaskier wasn't curious, it was that foster care rarely stemmed from anything good happening and he wanted to give Geralt the same respect granted him, that one day, when he was ready, they would talk. 

Only now Jaskier is wishing he'd asked, let him know he _wanted_ to know about his childhood and all the instances and interactions that made him into the man Jaskier had fallen in love with. But Jaskier knows that time has long since past, that he needs to say something _now_ before Geralt gets the wrong idea and never bares himself again.

"I was weak and wanting. Always crying." Geralt pares down the fractured memories he has of his parents to a handful of words. Bruising grips and burning jabs, head-snapping jerks meant to startle him into silence when tears spilled over his round cheeks because it _hurt_. 

Jaskier's voice is thick with unshed tears, knowing the minute one slips free Geralt will retreat back to the sickening mindset instilled in him as a child. Cupping his face, Jaskier rubs his thumb over his cheek, "You have _never_ been a burden to me. Never weak, nor wanting. You have done such good in this world."

Jaskier watches awareness steal over Geralt's eyes, calloused fingers grounding him to now, to someone who loves him, even when he is weak and wanting. "Thank you, Jaskier." 

Understanding the multitude those words contain and though he knows Geralt will always carry these scars, Jaskier will spend the rest of his days working to make sure he doesn't make any new ones. A sad smile pulls Jaskier's lips as he shifts closer, pressing a kiss to Geralt's forehead, sealing his silent vow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teeth check! You still chomping?  
> I usually stab you in the feels but I thought I might take a swing at knocking your feels' teeth in with that bit of Geralt's backstory.  
> Leave me a comment under the chapter like proverbial teeth under my pillow.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier tries to fit his mouth around telling Geralt what he’d done, apologize in advance because the faintest sliver of doubt has convinced him that it was a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh I am so very excited you are here! We're getting to some good bits I have been excited to share.  
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting!  
> And another big thank you to VeritasRose, without her this fic wouldn't be what it is!

“Shh, love. It’s gonna be ok.” Jaskier assures, replacing the body-warmed washcloth with a fresh, cool one. It’s more the gesture than the cloth itself that comforts Geralt.

Geralt knows it will be, that his stubbornness against taking any more of the pain medication had eased the stomach pains and in their wake, agony waited for any movement he dared make. A new nausea curdled his stomach but he hadn’t dared eating, not since he’d been unable to drag himself up, the pain crumbling his facade and like a helpless child Jaskier found him writhing in bed in a pool of his own sick. 

Jaskier was looking as rough as he felt and he knew his stubbornness was costing more than just himself, but he’d trusted Jaskier’s words that they wouldn’t see him as a burden, and had texted Eskel. Having settled it within himself, Geralt knew that even if they did think him an onus, it would be worth it if it meant helping Jaskier.

“The doctor agreed to send in a new script. You’ll have it as soon as possible, ok?” Geralt nods, unwilling to unclench his jaw and let more whimpers sound.

“I’m going to be downstairs for just a couple minutes, but I’ll be right back up if you need anything.” Jaskier hurries on. Geralt hates the guilt in his voice, for feeling like he needs to make excuses just so he can eat, as though it’s shameful when really Geralt is relieved.

Reassurances knock against Geralt’s teeth, offers that Jaskier doesn’t need to come back, that he should stay downstairs and play his guitar, take time for _himself,_ but that’s more words than he can manage right now and so all he gets out is a thready, “‘M fine.” 

Jaskier’s smile is brittle and Geralt nearly asks for the old medicine, wants to swear that he’ll take them and deal with the ensuing ache quietly if it will take the worry from his eyes. But the new medication is just ahead and he won’t undo all the careful work Jaskier had done to help him.

“Love you.” Geralt bites out, teeth gating whimpers and pleas, but Jaskier looks like it’s the best thing Geralt could have said.

“I know.” Jaskier hums, pressing a kiss. Pulling back, blue eyes meet golden as he whispers, “I love you.”

Geralt closes his eyes, as though shutting out the world will preserve the moment. He feels Jaskier’s careful movements that take him off the bed accompanied by the soft thud of his phone sliding off his side but he doesn’t bring it up, not wanting to break the moment. 

Jaskier pauses in the doorway, looking at Geralt and as he tries to reassure himself that he’ll be ok for the next few minutes, that what he’s going to do is for the best, his decision had been easy to make after seeing Geralt trembling from the pain. In the kitchen, Jaskier’s phone waits next to his notebook, the blank rows catching his eye, a trained urge rising in him to take Geralt his medicine, four doses missed but Jaskier knows that can’t be right, it’s not that late yet.

Shaking his head to clear the tangling thoughts, Jaskier plucks his phone from the counter, the text he’d painstakingly typed out waiting to be sent. He hated to bother Eskel but maybe Geralt, seeing he wasn’t only ok from the Witcher call but didn’t see helping as a burden, would help allay his fears.

With a steadying sigh, Jaskier taps _Send_ before switching to his timer app and sets it for seven minutes, drifting towards the sink where he starts the water. It’s as he’s returning his phone to the island that his eyes catch on the small plate of peanut butter crackers he’d tried to ply Geralt with, but he’d barely managed two before he was retching and refused to try anymore. 

Knowing he’s already wasted more than enough food, Jaskier plucks one from the plate, nibbling the edge as he holds his fingers under the tap, working at a second one before he returns it to the plate in favor of starting the dishes. All too soon his timer sounds, Jaskier shuts off the water as he swipes his hands on a dishtowel, eyeing his phone only to find it isn’t the alarm.

The screen darkens before Jaskier can finish reading Eskel’s reply but soon enough their conversation fills the screen, Jaskier reading the response twice, then his text and then the response once more. He hadn’t meant to make it sound like Eskel had to come _now_.

Jaskier types out reply after reply, none of them sounding right but his thoughts keep slipping away with all that needs to be done before Eskel arrives. With a meager _Thank you_ tapped out, Jaskier’s screen switches apps, informing him he’s not only wasted valuable minutes but needs to check on Geralt. 

With no time left to compose a better response, Jaskier taps send as he heads for the stairs, knowing he needs to move faster, there’s too much to be done and Eskel was efficient, if he said he was on his way that meant he was walking to his vehicle as he responded.

It’s only as Jaskier reaches the landing, breaths coming in pants, that doubt starts to creep in. Though he was sure Eskel and the others didn’t see Geralt as a burden, he hadn’t known them as long as Geralt had and had been wrong before. _He_ was a burden to those he met, isn’t that what stopped him from texting Eskel for so long? Wasn’t that what Valdo had told him time and again.

Thoughts still churning, Jaskier drifts to the bedroom door, but Geralt makes no move to turn and look at him, whether asleep or the pain he doesn’t know. Jaskier tries to fit his mouth around telling Geralt what he’d done, apologize in advance because the faintest sliver of doubt has convinced him that it was a mistake. That the optimism his mom said shone like a light within was going to break Geralt in ways that could never be mended.

Forcing himself to turn and head back downstairs Jaskier tries to order his thoughts, wrapping himself in the cold comfort that _he_ was the one to ask Eskel to bring the medicine so that shouldn’t reflect on Geralt. 

Jaskier pretends that he’s leaning against the sink just to reset the timer on his phone, that it has nothing to do with his pulse thundering in his ears or the black nibbling at the edges of his vision.

Starting the water once more, Jaskier’s eyes drift to the plate of crackers but that would require moving and it’s just not worth it at the moment. As steam begins curling off the dishes, Jaskier sets to scrubbing, knowing it would go much faster if he hadn’t let them sit for days to get crusty.

He’s hardly made a dent by the time his alarm sounds again and Jaskier falls into a familiar routine. Each trip upstairs taking a little longer, what had started as a hip against the counter gives way to forearms holding him up.

“Oh cock.” Jaskier breathes, tired mind remembering what he’d been meaning to do for hours. Feet slipping from one stair to the next as he takes them too fast and Jaskier forces himself to leave the worn path to the sink and turn into the laundry room.

They were out of clean sheets, leaving Geralt on a bare mattress and patchwork coverage of the music note blanket and the one Jaskier had given him for Christmas. Turning on the washer, Jaskier stoops to gather up an armful of bedclothes, finding too late he’d never dried the ones from the night of the nightmare. 

“Jaskier?” He jumps at Eskel’s voice, having not heard him arrive over the sound of the washer filling. 

“Eskel.” Both wince at how it sounds, any hope Jaskier had of getting some of the mess managed crumbles.

Misunderstanding Eskel's concern for disgust, Jaskier stutters an apology. "I'm sorry I didn't hear you come in. I would have met you at the door. I mean, not that you _can't_ come in." 

Eskel was careful to keep his gaze solely on Jaskier, having already taken in the mountains of laundry covering the floor, the one that matched the dishes strewn across the counter. Warning signs long before Jaskier's fumbling response, so much like those early days it makes Eskel sick. What had happened?

"I didn't mean to startle you, just heard the water running and thought it would be less startling if I wasn't just lurking in the kitchen." Eskel aims for light but at the mention of the kitchen Jaskier's eyes flick past him, distress tightening his features.

"No, you're fine, really. I appreciate you doing this." Jaskier tugs nervously at the hem of his shirt, a tell Eskel's noticed before and wished he wasn't the one bringing it out. Stepping back into the kitchen in hopes that space will help, Eskel moves to the island, working at opening the pharmacy bag, faltering when he notices the plate of peanut butter crackers. 

"What do I owe you?" Jaskier's question pulls Eskel's attention from the abandoned food.

"Don't worry about it." Jaskier blanches at the words.

"I can pay." His voice is small, the barest bit of defiance in it, one that wavers even as Jaskier stands there, fingers nervously plucking away. 

Tinkling music shatters the tension strung between them, clumsy fingers digging the phone from Jaskier's pocket, a timer that seems to pass faster than it has any right to before he swipes it away.

"I've gotta check on Geralt. I should take his meds." The excuse is in the words, the silent suggestion that Eskel leave but he knows better, that's not something Jaskier would ever say.

"I'll take them up. Why don't you take a break?" Eskel offers, biting off the suggestion to finish his snack, knowing it would be taken as a jibe rather than honest concern. 

Jaskier is certain his panic shows, Eskel studying him in that way that makes Jaskier feel _seen_ , makes him want to go back to before he texted Eskel, to find some other way to get the medications, one that didn't leave so many uncertainties. When Jaskier offers up no refute, Eskel turns his attention to the paperwork stapled to the bag, reading over the dosage and instructions, Jaskier feeling dismissed.

Drifting to the cabinets, Jaskier pulls out yet another glass, one more dish to add to his mounting pile, one more that will be forgotten among the other half dozen scattered across the dresser, nightstand and bathroom counter. Propping his hip against the counter, Jaskier lets the water run, hot fading to lukewarm and then finally cold, what he knows will feel good on Geralt's raw throat.

Turning to offer the glass he finds he'd unknowingly earned Eskel's attention, an unreadable expression on his face that twists Jaskier inside, Geralt was right, they were only seen as burdens.

"Thank you. I'll be right back, ok?" Eskel looks like he wants to say more but Jaskier can't bring himself to do anything beyond a nod, grateful there's only a couple crackers in his stomach, one less shame for Eskel to witness.

It doesn't sit right with Eskel to leave Jaskier, even for a few minutes, but he needs to know what the hell happened and that means talking to Geralt. Pinning the water glass to his side with his arm, Eskel taps out a text to Triss, asking her to come over, knowing he has no hope of helping if Jaskier isn't otherwise distracted.

With each step up, Eskel's frustration grows. He knew his brother was stubborn, could rival Lambert on his best days, it was practically one of the requirements to land yourself in Vesemir's school, but this he couldn't understand. There was no way he missed Jaskier's deteriorating state, this wasn't just one rough night or Bad Day and it certainly wasn't like Jaskier to know he was coming over and still be in pajamas. It didn't bother Eskel, but he knew it bothered Jaskier and that made it so much worse. 

Eskel pauses in the bedroom's doorway, his silhouette shadowing the huddled form on the bed that makes no move to acknowledge him even after he calls his name. Only once he steps deeper into the room and the light filters in again does he see golden eyes tracking him.

"'Skel." Geralt's voice sounds rougher than usual but there's relief on his face.

"You want to tell me what the hell is going on?" Eskel growls, Geralt's brows furrow at the sharp question."I knew you were stubborn, but this...this is even low for you."

"What?" Geralt's voice is soft and he makes no move to sit up even though Eskel is clearly bearing the medication Jaskier was anxious to get. Moving closer Eskel catches the glint of Geralt's phone on the floor beside the bed and with a sigh he stoops, trying to rearrange the medication and the glass without spilling any, he jams the phone in his pocket before rising. The last thing Jaskier needed was to be picking up after Geralt when he looked ready to fall over himself.

"I know what it is to care for your stubborn ass but I thought you might be better with Jaskier." Eskel knows it's the fear and frustration fueling his words and though Jaskier's been fighting so hard and making such progress, they'd nearly lost him too many times already and he doesn't think any of them will survive it again, not when Jaskier is barely recovered himself.

Guilt closes like a hand around Geralt's throat at Eskel's words; the bitter taste of shame returning.

It had burned his tongue when he'd declined seeing his father. The man hadn't been in his life since he was taken away as a child.

Reopened those blisters in the days after his father's lawyer showed up, informing Geralt he was now the proprietor of a bar bestowed with his own namesake.

Vesemir had barely been able to understand him as the shame clawed up scar tissue in its haste to be free once more. Spilling a dream, a hope, he and Triss had only dared whisper about between them.

One day...

One day...

_One day..._

His voice never sounded the same after that.

And now, he'd known Jaskier hadn't been looking good and he'd been trying to be less work, but it seems his attempts had fallen short once more and he should just be grateful Eskel showed up one last time. 

"I don't understand." Eskel sighs, shaking his head and that's so much worse, he can't even be bothered to trouble himself with Geralt anymore. "Look, just take the pills. I'll be downstairs trying to keep your boyfriend from working himself until he drops." 

Eskel knows the words are harsh, Vesemir's chiding that things said in anger were born of fear and frustration and left wounds that were hardest to mend coming to mind. Knowing he can't take the words back, Eskel sets the glass and medication on the nightstand, Jaskier _needs_ help and Eskel lets that be the excuse that carries him from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many of you lovely readers wanted at least one of the brother's to show up and take care of Geralt and _technically_ that did occur. And I mean, Eskel had all the right words in the hospital with Jaskier when it counted so that's something, right?  
> At least we know how Geralt got his nice rumbly voice? No, wait, that was kinda tragic too.  
>  _squints_ I may have misplaced the fluff again this chapter...


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even when he was caring for Geralt, Eskel knew Vesemir was only a call away, but sometime when he wasn’t looking, he’d become Jaskier’s Vesemir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Show of hands for how many of you lovely readers are angry at Eskel.  
> I love that some of you have both your hands up. Fair enough, I would be too. The real question is...will I use this chapter to make it better or worse?
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and a huge thank you to VeritasRose for betaing!

Unsurprisingly, Jaskier thought taking a break meant doing the dishes and Eskel is grateful his sigh is muffled by the running water. There's no way to not make it sound like he's inviting himself to dinner, but he reasons that's better than reminding Jaskier he was more likely to eat when he had company, a fact he'd admitted to Eskel himself.

"What do you say we whip up some dinner? I know I'm not as good as Geralt but I'm not nearly as bad as Lambert." Eskel tries to temper his words as he crosses to the fridge, mistaking the panicked look that flashes across Jaskier's face. Pulling open the fridge door Eskel is met with a sight that's altogether too reminiscent and introduces a new perspective to the issue. 

The normally well stocked fridge is near barren, condiments in abundance but the supplies needed to concoct something to put them on missing. Jaskier hadn't been eating because there was nothing he _could_ eat because that required going to the grocery store, and that in itself was a struggle even with Geralt at his side. 

Most apparent of all was that Eskel should have known.

At the sound of a familiar ringtone, Eskel distractedly digs his phone out, mind already forming the response to Triss’ text asking her to bring dinner when she comes out, but when he swipes it open a familiar conversation greets him, cursor blinking asking if he wishes to continue.

A plea asking for help. That Jaskier isn't doing well, an admittance that he can't help himself because he is the cause and would Eskel please come over. Apologies interspersed with understanding that Eskel’s already doing so much and he's asking for yet more. 

"Eskel?" Jaskier's voice is thin, snapping him back and he quickly darkens the screen, passing it over even as he works at getting his out. 

"Sorry. Found this on the floor upstairs. Forgot I'd grabbed it." Eskel knows there are things he meant to do, things he _needs_ to do, but his mind keeps playing over what he'd said to Geralt. The confusion at his words made sense and yet he'd still taken it without protest, readily accepted all the blame Eskel placed on him all the while thinking Eskel had come because of _his_ text.

Cool fingers brush his as Jaskier accepts the phone, seeming at a loss for what to do with it before he's turning towards the island. Eskel allows himself scant moments to settle his guilt, his conscience cleared meaning nothing at the cost of Jaskier. 

"Triss was gonna come by, guess she doesn't trust me to drop off the script." Eskel tries but even for how worn he is, Jaskier doesn't believe him. "We're just worried about you. _Both_ of you." Eskel adds, not wanting Jaskier to mistake his words.

"We're ok. I just," Jaskier falters, eyes flicking past him to the laundry room and seeming to weigh if he can say something and in that moment Eskel tries to look as inviting as possible.

"He needs sheets." Eskel doesn't understand the whispered admittance at first and his silence is damning, Jaskier retreating before his eyes.

"Geralt? Hurting too bad to get up?" Eskel tries, wondering if that's why he didn't make any move to take the desperately sought medication. "Let's take a seat and you can catch me up, let me know how to help."

Jaskier flinches at the offer, this was worse than what he'd feared and he couldn’t just tell Eskel no after all he’d done for them. Unless Eskel was just saying this because it was expected, that’s what you were supposed to offer.

“That’s ok. We’re fine. I’ve got it.” Jaskier tries to assure, but Eskel’s frown draws down his scars, deepening his disappointment.

Eskel knew he had to handle this carefully and wished Yennefer or Triss were there since Geralt was out of commission. Jaskier’s need to prove he was useful seemed to be back with a vengeance and Eskel could only guess what it took for him to ask someone to bring the medication out.

“I’ve no doubt you do, but I had to cancel dinner the other night. I guess Geralt told you?” At Jaskier’s nod, Eskel continues. “And it seems like we’ve missed a lot, what with the new script.”

Jaskier relaxes a bit at Eskel’s words, maybe he was sincere and Eskel was, of course, worried about Geralt. Jaksier’s knees weaken a bit at the thought, if only he could hear this himself then maybe he’d stop thinking his family saw him as a burden. 

“Jaskier?” Jaskier shakes his head, Eskel expectant but Jaskier has no idea what was asked.

“Yeah.” Jaksier says more to himself as he tries to slow his scattering thoughts.

“Ok.” Eskel nods slowly, concern only growing at Jaskier’s brief checkout. “Let’s sit and we can catch up. What do you feel like for dinner? Triss is insisting.” 

What progress Eskel thought he’d made is proven false as Jaskier stops at his words. “I can’t.” 

“You ever tried telling her no?” Eskel smiles but Jaskier shakes his head.

“I need,” Jaskier’s lips purse, there was no hiding the mess that surrounded them. “I have to do laundry. _Finish_ laundry.” 

“Because Geralt needs sheets.” Eskel says slowly. Jaskier wavers but Eskel had been the one to help Geralt after his previous accidents and he’d been upstairs but above all else it was his _own_ failing. 

“The pain meds were making him sick and I forgot I’d started a load and had to rewash them.” Jaskier admits, unable to meet Eskel’s eyes. 

“Hence the new meds. You’ve got ‘em going now, right? Think you were starting them when I got here?” Eskel offers, voice light. Wanting Jaksier to know there’s no shame in anything he’d said.

Jaskier doesn’t confirm as Eskel expected, instead he looks less certain and heads for the laundry room, a steadying hand on the passing furniture. Using the momentary distraction, Eskel checks his phone to find Triss, never one to miss a chance to ply someone with food, had responded to his text answering a request he’d yet to ask. 

Tapping out a quick thanks he looks up to see Jaskier worriedly watching him. “Triss was just letting me know she was on her way.” 

Jaskier nods but whatever he was going to say gets overtaken by panic as he starts patting his pockets. “How long have you been here?” 

Eskel doesn’t understand the question but the urgency in Jaskier’s voice makes him reluctant to admit, “I’m not sure. Why? What’s wrong?”

“I need to check on Geralt. Every seven minutes. I had a timer set…” Jaskier trails off as he finds his phone on the counter, swiping it open to find he’d never restarted the timer.

Eskel knows he should be able to handle this situation, which pales to some of the calls he’s gone on, but that’s the difference, he’s always had his family at his side. Even when he was caring for Geralt, he knew Vesemir was only a call away, but sometime when he wasn’t looking, he’d become Jaskier’s Vesemir.

“I’ll be right back.” Jaskier apologizes, hating how quickly he’d gone from excusing Eskel should _he_ want to leave, to trapping him while he left.

Jaskier hopes it’s not been too long since...no, it was Eskel that had gone up last, a new panic urging him up the steps faster but his body doesn’t have the energy to obey. This time he doesn't linger in the doorway but pads into the bedroom, wary, golden eyes watching him. 

As Geralt takes Jaskier in he notices just how worn he truly looks, the dark circles under his eyes, his gait unsteady. Geralt knew he should have seen this earlier but it was Jaskier’s recovery belly all over again. Neither had noticed, seeing each other everyday it was harder to note the subtle changes until the day Jaskier’s pants hadn’t fit and suddenly his stomach was impossible to miss.

“I guess you know Eskel’s here. I asked him to pick up the new script. Didn’t...” Jaskier waves the reasoning away but Geralt hears it all the same. He had trapped Jaskier in the house. 

“Oh. He just brought them up. I’m sorry, let’s get you those.” Jaskier says, having noted the medication on the nightstand, Geralt unable to stand the small movements it required to get them.

With gentle hands, Jaskier tilts Geralt’s head up, dropping the pills cupped in his palm into Geralt’s mouth. The water comes next, little sips lapping at his lips but Geralt isn’t sure how he’ll swallow around the shame in his throat. 

He wants to apologize for not seeing sooner, for not being better for Jaskier so he hadn’t dragged him down as well. But more than that, he wanted to promise Jaskier that they didn’t find him a burden, that he had a little found family who cared so much about him he shouldn’t worry any longer.

But telling him that would mean admitting what Eskel had said and he wouldn’t put that choice on Jaskier. No, he’ll trust that they’ll figure out a way to get him the help he needs and then Geralt can quietly remove himself. 

“The sheets are in the dryer now. Shouldn’t be too much longer, ok.” Jaskier tells Geralt, hating that it sounds like he expects praise for doing basic chores.

“I’m fine.” Geralt swallows the suggestion that Jaskier should rest, knowing his mind will twist it around. Jaskier’s smile is fond as he wraps a curl around his finger, something Geralt isn’t sure he realizes he’s doing, as he says, “I know you’re fine but _I_ want you to be more than that.”

The words pain Geralt, momentarily overpowering the raw wound his entirety has become. Jaskier would, and had, always put others first at his own expense and Geralt was incapable of stopping him this time. But Eskel wasn’t.

“Thank you, Jaskier.” His words earn a tired smile, hearing a different three words and responding in kind. “You’re welcome, Geralt.”

With reluctance, Jaskier turns. “I'll be back in a few minutes.” He promises and Geralt knows this is his chance to ask before it’s too late.

“If he doesn’t mind, I’d like to see Eskel before he goes.” The words are bitten out, more than just the trauma to his body, but the conversation that needs to be had. 

“Oh. Right. I’ll let him know.”

Anxiety fills Jaskier at Geralt's request, certain that he means to thank Eskel for helping to manage things when Jaskier failed to. But he understood and it was only right that Eskel be thanked. With a weak smile he heads back downstairs, the relief at not finding Eskel at the sink short lived as he steps from the laundry room instead, the sound of the washer starting up following him out.

"Sorry, the buzzer sounded right after you headed up." Eskel had watched to make sure Jaskier made it up the stairs, ready to help him should he falter but the sound of the washer's cycle ending couldn't be ignored, not when Jaskier looked like he was barely keeping it together and still so insistent about Geralt needing bedclothes.

Jaskier knows he should tell Eskel that Geralt asked to see him before he left, but that would make it sound like he expected him to leave, and maybe he was staying because he knew Jaskier had fallen behind on chores and–

"Hello!" Triss' voice cuts off Jaskier's whirling thoughts, missing the worried look Eskel had been giving him, trying to figure out how to get him to sit and talk to him without making Jaskier feel worse.

Eskel falls in step behind Jaskier who little more than drifts towards the living room, each swaying step threatening to be his last before his body gives out.

The weak grasp Jaskier had on Eskel being there slips at her arrival, chest tightening as she draws near, arms laden with more proof of his failings. He’d told Geralt the truth when he said he’d yet to see Geralt as a burden, he only wished someone could reassure him of the same now. 

“I’m sor-hee. I duh-hon’t–” Jaskier presses his lips into a thin line, trying to force the tightness in his chest to ease, the last thing Geralt needs is him in the hospital again.

“Hey cub.” Triss is there, bags of dinner, much needed food for Geralt, not to mention Eskel, abandoned on the floor because of him.

Triss’ hands take his, pulling his attention back as her thumbs rub the back of his palms. “Breathe for me. Good. Again.” 

Guiding him through breathing, she walks them over to the couch, perching on the edge, their knees knocking together but she doesn’t shift away. “Ok hun, what’s got you so twisted up?” 

Triss’ question is gentle, her eyes so filled with concern he doesn’t fear admitting to her, “I don’t want to be a burden.”

Triss’ face crumples and without a word she gathers him into her arms, fingers pressing hard into his back as though she can make him feel her words' truth. “You are _never_ a burden.” 

Jaskier nods, breathing in the soft, sweet scent of her, but she doesn’t pull away. “I swear to you. Please don’t believe those thoughts.” 

“I’ll try.” Jaskier knows it’s not the answer she wants, but it’s the one she deserves. 

Only then does she pull back, hands still holding him as though she can’t stand to let him go yet. “That’s all I ask. And if you ever need help or reminding, find me.” Watery blue eyes search his, ensuring he takes the words to heart and not as an empty gesture. 

Triss releases Jaskier at his nod, having determined he truly accepted the words. “So, where’s our wolf? He up for some dinner or are we taking the party to him?”

Guilt wracks Jaskier at Triss’ question. Once more he’d forgotten about Geralt, had no idea how much time had passed, all so he could be comforted.

“Jaskier?” Though her voice is soft, an absurd laugh sounds that he’s helpless to stop. He doubts she expected him to need a reminder so soon, probably wishes she could take back the words.

Triss glances at Eskel, hoping he understands and he does, all too well. “Geralt’s having a rough time of it, I don’t think he’ll be coming down.” Eskel hates the concern his words bring, knows how close Triss and Geralt are but the night ahead is going to be long.

"He asked to see you." Jaskier blurts, hurriedly adding on, "Before you left." 

In a handful of words Jaskier had managed to unknowingly wound Eskel, Triss' eyes narrowing on him telling him he hadn't kept his features as careful as he'd meant to. 

"I'll take dinner up to him, you two go ahead and get started." Eskel calls over his shoulder as he moves towards the bags still on the floor. 

Jaskier watches, doubting Geralt can stomach whatever Triss had brought, no matter how thoughtful in her choice, his stomach had only grown more tender these past couple days. "He might not be hungry, the meds have made him more sick than helped. He could barely get crackers down." Jaskier forces himself to admit.

Eskel's head snaps up from where he'd been eyeing the container with Triss' swirling _G_ written near the corner, cold understanding creeping through him. Those hadn't been Jaskier's crackers on the counter and with the state of the fridge and his reliance on smoothies and other gentle fare there was no telling when the last time he ate was. 

"I tried." Jaskier withers under his look and Eskel wonders if he'll ever stop fucking things up. 

"You've done more than try, I know just how stubborn he can be. I'll still give it a try. We'll wear him down eventually." Eskel tries to keep his tone light but it's difficult with the lump in his throat.

"You'll have dinner with me, won't you?" Triss asks, drawing Jaskier's attention back to her and neatly presenting the daunting event of eating as a favor to her.

"Of course." Jaskier says, but the reluctance is apparent. Passing the bags over to her, Eskel tries to ignore how they feel heavier than they've any right to, but she takes them with ease, cocking her elbow for Jaskier to take and escort her to the kitchen table.

It works at pulling a small smile to Jaskier's lips as he pushes himself up, slipping his arm through hers when it's clear she wasn't going anywhere without him doing so. 

With a final look, and a bit of envy at her ease, Eskel trudges towards the stairs, no closer to knowing how to mend what he's said. Unsure if he even _can_ , but Geralt deserves him trying.

Now that he knows, it's easy to spot the naked mattress, the pain that strings Geralt's body whip tight, a slight trembling from his limbs as too many nerves send out signals for dulling that aren't answered. Golden eyes watch his approach once more, but this time they're resigned if a little wary and Eskel can't blame him, anticipating another caustic outburst he has no hope of escaping.

"Eskel." Geralt's voice is rougher than usual, calling to mind Jaskier’s words that he'd barely managed anything and the sour scent of sick clinging to the sheets downstairs.

Eskel moves to the bathroom, flicking the switch and casting the room in shadowed light, no more spiteful accusations delivered with ease. Only raw honesty, dragged into the light.

"Triss brought you dinner. She didn't," Eskel feels foolish starting with the least important thing but he can't take it back and with a sigh he finishes. "She didn't know. None of us did." 

"Jaskier?" Geralt asks, showing no interest in the container, regardless of the contents and Eskel moves to set it on the dresser, finding it already crowded with water glasses and tiny bowls.

"Is downstairs having dinner with Triss." Eskel says, turning back towards the bed, knowing even the slightest shift will be magnified but hating looming over him all the same.

Geralt nods, taking this in and though Eskel feels the urge to fill the silence, he doesn't know where to start, what needs to be said so Geralt doesn't just swallow empty apologies to soothe his conscience.

Eskel doesn't know how to start, but Geralt does.

“Thank you for taking care of him.” Though Geralt doesn’t mean them to be there, Eskel hears the silent failing he’d instilled in Geralt. “He won’t believe you at first, but keep at it, he needs to know you don’t see him as a burden.” 

Geralt had debated sharing Jaskier’s personal fear with Eskel, but after his conversation with him earlier he couldn’t shake the fear that _someone_ who would be helping him should know. 

“Of course we don’t see him as a burden.” Eksel says, taken aback. 

A smile twitches Geralt’s lips. “A bit more subtle.” 

Eskel catches himself settling into the familiarity of Geralt’s sarcasm. “I shouldn’t have said those things. 

"I appreciate all you've done, _been_ doing," Geralt corrects himself, the words short with pain. "I thought..." 

Eskel doesn't need Geralt to say what he'd thought, he knows because he'd clawed at the doubts, the ones that had haunted all of them since the emergency room just weeks into the fresh start of the new year. 

"You thought you needed to do it all on your own." Geralt's eyes drift away from Eskel and he wonders if he'll ever stop saying the wrong thing. "Shit Geralt. I didn't...I never got the text you sent asking for help. It didn't send and was still on your phone, I saw it by accident when I thought I was answering mine." Geralt lets out a huff of laughter, his failing Jaskier knows no bounds.

"It scared me, seeing Jaskier like that and I came up here and blamed you. _You_ who have been doing it on your own. I know he wouldn't have made it this long if you weren't doing more than you should right now to help him." Eskel says, keeping the guilt of not trying for lunch the day after the Witcher call and saving Geralt and Jaskier days of struggling, to himself. 

"I hadn't noticed." Geralt murmurs, eyes fixing on Eskel once more. Never before had Eskel fully understood the breadth of Vesemir's cautioning, but his careless words had ingrained a belief in Geralt that he had been failing Jaskier.

"You _did_. Even if you weren't aware of it, you were doing little things to help him." Eskel wishes he had an example to make Geralt see but when he can offer none, Geralt nods, taking it as evidence of his own incompetence.

"He thought he lost you and I think a part of him fears that he still might." The little Jaskier had told him about his mom being sick centered around her time in the hospital and Geralt knew his own hospital stay had been a bit rough for Jaskier as buried memories were recalled but he'd thought being home would help things. It seems that Jaskier was still struggling with memories that Geralt wasn't aware of.

Eskel lets this settle with Geralt for a moment before he continues. "He's as stubborn as you and he still asked for help, don't push him away and make him think you don't want him. Don't...don't let my carelessness cost you both this." 

Geralt's eyes don't stray from the ceiling and Eskel only hopes if Geralt heeds nothing else he's said, he does this. Eskel makes it to the door, unsure what to do, if there's even anything he can, when Geralt rasps, "Eskel."

Turning back he can almost see the scars his words have left, Geralt still wary of his presence and struggling to string together more words, whether it be the drugs or pain he doesn't know. "Thank you." There's a weight to those two words that give Eskel pause, one he doesn't fully understand and knows Geralt is trying to impart. 

"We're family, it's what we do.” Eskel tells him but Geralt doesn't respond right away, he just stares at Eskel, seeming not to see him as he nods to himself. Maybe being family didn't mean you weren't a burden, maybe it meant it was a burden they didn't mind sharing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As many of you requested...hoped...pleaded(?) for...we have the family stepping in and up to take care of these boys. I would be so bold as to say that if you scraped all the sprinkles together you would have a scrap of fluff. Yes, behold it in all its rarity and glory.
> 
> You know I love it when you tell me what you thought!


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eskel was in the unique position to watch all three and yet be able to help none of them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're here and you've never been here-er than you are now and that just makes me so happy!  
> We are slowly creeping towards these boys getting help so what say we take another lurching step in that direction?
> 
> A huge thank you to VeritasRose for betaing this monster!

"I'm sorry." Jaskier murmurs again, wanting to push the container away but he knows that's childish, hands twisting roughly in his lap instead.

"It's ok. I can get you something else. Something easier." Triss offers, the words gentle and Jaskier knows she would. Be up and out the door without a second thought to the wastefulness that spurred her task. From more food he doesn't need wasted when he won't finish it, money he doesn't have to spare if she even lets him pay her back and then there's her valuable time.

"No, that's ok." Jaskier trips over the words, his thoughts threatening to spill out between them.

She frowns as though she's heard them and Jaskier fears maybe she has until she says, "Is it because you don't want anymore or you don't want to put me out?" 

Lies line up dutifully, ready to be picked and offered but he'd promised her. "I can't. It...hurts." He clarifies, not wanting her to think it was the taunting voice, though it was there as well, it had nothing on the cramping in his stomach, the heaviness that used to come only after long days of meals and snacks now brought on by only a few bites.

Triss' face softens, leaning close she flips the lid closed before moving the box to the other end of the table. "Thank you for telling me. I'm glad you got something and tomorrow maybe you can tell me something that's easier on your system. I don't want you hurting." Soft fingers squeeze his wrist, reaffirming the words.

Triss’ eyes flick past him but he doesn't need to turn to know what's drawn her attention, Eskel's reflection in the dark windows move silently towards them. "How is he?" 

"Not feeling up for food yet." Eskel says, dropping into the seat before his own box marked _E_. In truth, Eskel is the furthest thing from hungry, an itch beneath his skin that encourages him to move, to _get doing_ even though he's only managed to think of more and more problems with no idea how to fix them without making Jaskier think they believe him incapable.

Triss frowns but doesn't press, just watches as Eskel reluctantly opens his own meal, eyes flicking towards Jaskier's pushed far from his reach but trusts that she knows what she's doing. 

"Ciri's expanded her bracelet line." Triss says, extending her arm for Jaskier to admire. The simple two and three strand braids she'd been working diligently at all these months have morphed into a style that makes one color appear to zig-zag back and forth.

"She's getting good." Jaskier says, fighting to open his eyes from the blink that threatens to keep them closed.

He knows he's being rude, they've done so much for him and he can't even stay awake during dinner but all his tired mind can think is how he's hurting and just wants Geralt. Wants to go upstairs and curl up next to him and sleep. But there are pressing things he should be concerned about that drift from his mind before he can understand them, leaving a shadow of anxiety in their wake. 

"What do you-" Triss doesn't finish her question as Jaskier starts at the buzzer of the dryer. 

Palms flat on the table, Jaskier pushes to his feet. Sheets. Geralt needed sheets and as soon as Triss and Eskel left, then he could go to bed. Jaskier staggers towards the laundry room, Triss hovering behind while Eskel watches from the table, not wanting him to feel crowded.

Jaskier knew he needed to stop wanting, but he _hurt_ and was so tired and none of it mattered because Geralt needed him. And so, with a bracing hand on the top of the dryer, Jaskier leans over, forcing himself to breathe through the pain. 

“Jaskier?” Triss eyes him worriedly and he knows she fears it’s his stomach, the dinner she’d so caringly brought him, causing such pain.

“I washed the wrong sheets.” Jaskier can’t keep the whimper from his voice. 

The _look_ Triss graces him with doesn’t make him feel ridiculous even as she asks, “What’s so wrong about these?” 

Behind her on the floor, uncovered after the load Eskel had started are the sheets he’d wanted to give Geralt. “They aren’t the Valentine’s Day sheets.” Jaskier tries to explain.

Triss arches an eyebrow, “Valentine’s Day sheets?” 

If he weren’t so tired and his thoughts weren’t slipping away before he could finish them he would have been embarrassed. But the past week has worn down any reservation, granting him the freedom of explaining unhindered. “I got him really soft sheets for Valentine’s Day.” Jaskier says, part of him knowing that explanation elaborates to nothing.

“I bet he appreciated those. Probably felt good on his scars.” Triss offers gently. Jaskier nods, grateful she understands. “These seem pretty soft and we can change them tomorrow. Ok?” 

Jaskier doesn’t miss the casual offer of help, but coming from her it doesn’t make him feel like he _can’t_ do it, but that she _wants_ to help. Jaskier reluctantly accepts that even if he started the sheets as soon as the washer went off, he doubts he’d be awake enough to change them over, much less remake the bed.

“You don’t think he’ll mind?” Jaskier whispers, needing the reassurance.

“Not at all. I bet what he wants most is you up there with him.” Triss promises him softly, Eskel marveling at the ease with which she comforted him.

“That sounds nice.” Jaskier doesn’t mean the admittance to be said aloud but Triss beams.

“Then let's make it happen.” Stooping, she gathers the sheets in her arms, ducking to grab the pillow case that slipped free. Without breaking stride as they head for the stairs, Triss asks, “He is wearing _some_ clothing. Right?” 

Jaskier stumbles to a stop, certain he’s misheard. “What?” 

Triss stops too, bedclothes looking like captured storm clouds in her arms. “Well, there are some _bits_ of his neither of us wants me seeing.” 

Jaskier blinks at her, brows furrowing briefly before his mind sorts out the teasing, surprise widening his eyes. Triss laughs, bumping his shoulder with hers. Jaskier’s gait is slow as they continue towards the stairs, Triss keeping a step behind him just in case he falters.

It’s only when they reach the top, Jaskier continuing on to the bedroom that Triss looks around, frowning down at Eskel who’s hovering in the archway to the kitchen. Eskel, who doesn’t want to ruin the careful balance he hopes is restored but staying downstairs it will only raise questions he’s certain neither he or Geralt want to address.

“-a few minutes. Fresh sheets always feel glorious.” Jaskier’s voice reaches Eskel as he mounts the stairs, finding Jaskier has positioned the walker in front of Geralt who looks like it’s taken everything he has just to get to sitting. In the soft light from the bathroom Eskel can make out something rarely seen, Geralt’s hair a riot of curls.

Triss was the only one among them that rivaled Ciri for Geralt’s open affection. He had protected her through foster care, both missing out on families when they refused to be separated, a bond that only grew stronger with age. But now she stood just to the side of the doorway, clutching the blankets and barely daring to breathe as she watched Jaskier try to coax Geralt to stand. 

Eskel resists the urge to go help Jaskier manhandle Geralt up if he has to, but something about the careful way Jaskier keeps his gaze from straying towards them warns him off. Which leaves him watching Triss, as awkward as watching Geralt, unknowingly vulnerable but infinitely more painful as he should be able to help but has no idea how.

She’d seen Geralt in the hospital, had been soothed by his renewed vow and it wasn’t like this was the first time–with a start Eskel realizes the many things different this time.

Yes, Geralt had been hospitalized before, but it had only been severe one other time and Triss had been young. Vesemir had handled Eskel so by the time he broke the news to Triss he was able to shoulder her. He’d been the one to care for Geralt because Lambert was somewhere classified and though he was barely aware, Geralt had pleaded to Eskel for Triss not to see him so helpless.

And it's only taken ten years for Eskel to fully understand why.

Having pulled the walker closer until it’s caged him in, Geralt is trying to rise. Though the pain medication has helped take the edge off so he can move, days of going without have made his body a rictus of working.

Eskel hopes Jaskier doesn’t realize the careful maneuver Geralt has arranged, the walker effectively preventing Jaskier from helping as he tries to stand, his left leg straightening as he rises but it’s clear it bears no weight from the awkward angle as it remains pulled back. 

Seeming to realize a timer of an indeterminate amount had started, Jaskier moves from before the walker, hastily folding the blankets before abandoning the task when he remembers they need to be washed first.

Eskel was in the unique position to watch all three and yet be able to help none of them. 

Jaskier trying not to pressure Geralt, who is barely shuffling away from the bed, his bad leg being dragged along. And Triss, eyes for only Geralt, glassy with tears Eskel isn’t sure she’s realized have come to her eyes and he longs to comfort her.

But comforting Triss would mean drawing attention to the faltering composure she's clinging to, alerting Geralt to the pain his mere existence has inadvertently caused. Though he knows he's already asked for so much tonight, Eskel sends a silent plea that this one will be granted and forces himself to move towards Geralt.

It's a testament to how worn he is that Geralt's head doesn't so much as twitch towards him as Eskel draws near; Eskel wavering on if he should announce his presence or if that would only startle Geralt more. Finally he decides it's better if he does, the last thing they need is a defensive Geralt. "Do you need anything?" 

Geralt leans away from him, his already strangling grip on the walker the only thing keeping him up as his leg isn't prepared to hold him. Realizing it's only Eskel seems to relax him and he shifts back, the rustle of his curls the only indication he's declining Eskel's offer but it served its purpose in stalling him, he'd made it far enough from the bed Triss and Jaskier were already smoothing the fitted sheet over it.

Eskel stays by him, not sure if the silence is truly awkward or if it's his earlier guilt echoing back. Geralt had always been one that could wrap silence around him and be content, which made it all the harder to read them.

Triss is working a pillowcase over the remaining pillow as Jaskier turns, eyes flicking over Eskel as though he's surprised to find him in the room but his concern, as it always is, is for Geralt and that's who he moves towards. "Let's get you back in bed love, it'll feel much better now." Jaskier cajoles, easily filling the space Eskel edges away from. 

In what clearly pains him and takes more skill than he currently possesses, Geralt works himself back around, having barely gone a few steps away it takes some maneuvering to get back facing the bed without twisting. 

So focused on watching should he need to step in, Eskel doesn't notice Triss stealing across the room, tucking herself into his side, her arm around his waist in a silent request to be held. An easy arm around her shoulders, a hold they'll both break should Geralt need him as they intrude on a moment both are too uncertain to leave.

Jaskier is all too familiar with Geralt's insistence that he can do by himself, that Jaskier not be his nursemaid, but in the pause before Geralt brings his legs up to lay down Jaskier knows what he does, that his left leg can't manage the motion. Smoothly steering the walker to the side, Jaskier stoops, hand hovering over knee as he catches Geralt's eye, seeking permission. 

Only once it's granted do they start, Jaskier letting him take the lead, matching his movements like the mirror game as Geralt lowers himself onto his side and then rolls onto his back, Jaskier easing the leg straight. Stretching over him, Jaskier pulls the light sheet over, the clean scent of detergent momentarily clouding his senses.

It's as the sheet is falling from his grip that Geralt's hand catches his. "Come to bed, songbird." 

The words are so quiet Jaskier thinks he's mistaken him, his own mind projecting wants but Geralt's eyes open a little more, a steadying breath carrying the, "Please." 

Jaskier _wants_ , but there are things he needs to do, but Geralt asked and... "Get some rest. We know our way out." Triss keeps her voice low, a gentle excuse.

With a grateful smile, Jaskier circles around to the other side of the bed, Triss and Eskel stepping from the room, pulling the door just-to-close behind them. 

Geralt's arm stretches across the bed, an invitation and request that Jaskier is more than happy to act upon. Careful not to jostle him, Jaskier tucks himself into Geralt's side, relaxing into the familiar feel of Geralt's arm around his shoulders, holding him close.

"Thank you, Jaskier." Geralt murmurs, the words too small to contain the multitude of things they need to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Eyes chapter_  
>  Ok, so if you come here and lean this way and then squint but just your left eye...no that's too much now you're winking...there! Now do you see the fluff?
> 
> Your comments brighten my days!


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt is looking at him with that soft smile he has in the morning, the one that speaks of a promise renewed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back!  
> Several of you predicted things that happen in this chapter and I'm going to hazard a claim and say there is more fluff in this chapter than there has been in recent chapters. 
> 
> Huge thank you to you, lovely readers, I appreciate you being here. And another to the amazing VeritasRose for betaing.

For the first time in longer than he wants to think about, Jaskier wakes slowly. The gradual awakening where you snuggle back into bed, let sleep drag you under once more. A gentle caress and familiar rumbling urge him back to sleep and with a promise to himself of _just a little longer_ when he has no intention of measuring out time.

The second time this happens, Jaskier wills himself back to sleep once more but his bladder is insistent and the last thing he needs–with a jolt, Jaskier is alert. The day's light edges around the curtains, the room far brighter than it should be for the hour he needed to rise. His bladder all but forgotten in his panicked realization of countless doses of medication missed, no way of knowing as he’d never bothered to read the instructions.

Hazy memories of the night before are all he can conjure, scraps of dishes and laundry, Eskel and...Triss but he doesn't remember them leaving. Doesn't remember going to bed but he'd clearly not set his alarm or swiped it away.

"Good morning, Jaskier." Geralt's soft greeting drags him from his spinning thoughts, shoulders hunched and guilt on his lips as he turns.

But what he finds is familiar in all the ways that it isn't. Geralt is looking at him with that soft smile he has in the morning, the one that speaks of a promise renewed. Soft waves of white hair frame his face, the pain that had tightened his features is gone, along with the dark smudges under his eyes from too many sleepless hours.

"Jaskier? Are you ok?" The small smile that hard curled his lips drops, Geralt's shoulders curling as though he means to sit up and meet whatever is upsetting Jaskier but catches himself before he can complete the action.

Jaskier doesn't know how to phrase it so Geralt won't feel guilty, won't just soothe him so he doesn't feel bad but the longer he stays silent the more Geralt's concern grows. With reluctance Jaskier admits, "I'm sorry. I forgot to set alarms last night. I don't even know how many doses you missed." 

Even as he apologizes and explains Geralt is shaking his head, that smile returning. "Eskel brought them up. You needed the sleep." A part of Jaskier knows Geralt didn't mean it as a dig at him, but what he knows has crumbled into something that resembles hoping and none of it matters because, "Eskel?"

Eskel, who had brought the meds and Triss who had brought dinner and held him when he broke down, sobbing in her arms like a child. Jaskier's cheeks heat as more memories are called forth, ones he'd rather have remained forgotten but is sure that would be worse.

Geralt's hand squeezing his thigh draws his attention. "They stayed because they were worried about us." Jaskier nods, turning over the words as he waits. "I'm...I appreciate you taking care of me. Of...staying."

Jaskier's brows furrow at that and he wants to protest but it's clear Geralt needs to say this. "Don't...it was a lot for one person. _Too_ much for one person. Ask Eskel if you don't believe me. Vesemir," Geralt pauses, setting whatever is going to come next right with himself. "Eskel ran himself down like you did and Vesemir finally came and sorted us both out." 

Questions press against Jaskier's lips, but he knows the answers have been written in the scars Geralt was so reluctant for people to see and Jaskier wouldn't treat them as a spectacle for him to look through. Instead, he admits the fear and possible lie, that plagued him the most. "Triss told me I wasn't a burden for needing help."

Jaskier studies Geralt and the unreadable expression he gets, fear twining with the guilt curled in his stomach. "She's right, you're not. And Eskel told me that we're not a burden for needing help." Geralt tells him, tugging him back down and into his side. 

Only once Jaskier is there, Geralt's arm around his shoulders does he finish. "We're a family, Jaskier. We help each other." 

Jaskier turns over those words, reveling in the ease with which he was included in their family, not just as Geralt's boyfriend but as his own person. Something Triss had made sure to remind him of last night. The smallest bit of him still harbors doubt, a part of him Jaskier is sure he'll never be rid of, but most of all, he's grateful that someone told Geralt. 

The pull of sleep creeps through his limbs, nibbling away the alertness that had propelled him awake as he settles back into the warmth and security that is Geralt, but with a groan he pushes himself up.

"Jaskier?" Worry edges his name.

"Stupid bladder." Jaskier pouts, Geralt laughing as he drags himself from bed, knowing he's no hope of picking up where he's leaving off. 

The sight that greets Jaskier in the mirror as he washes his hands decides his next step, or what would be his next step if Geralt didn't need anything. Opening the door he finds Geralt exactly as he left him and a part of him pangs for the easy days where they could venture downstairs and sit before the fire, of times when he didn't have to worry that something as simple as a snuggle day could leave Geralt hurting, or worse if he fell on the stairs. 

"Need anything?" Jaskier doesn't mean the words to be blunt, but he's grateful they're not of the variety he'd just been thinking. 

"I'm fine." Geralt says and though he's not upset at the tone he's clearly wondering what got Jaskier so twisted up in the short time he was gone.

"I was gonna...shower." Jaskier admits, feeling a bit ridiculous but also worrying Geralt would take it as him being a burden, Jaskier not even daring basic hygiene without checking first.

"Going to sing?" Geralt teases, effectively negating Jaskier's trepidation. 

"You'd like that, wouldn't you." Jaskier calls over his shoulder as he gathers fresh clothes. His hand hovers over the next drawer down, but he can't bring himself to put on jeans and pretend that things are normal. Not just yet. 

"Yeah, I would." Geralt admits, Jaskier helpless to the smile the words bring. With clothes in hand, Jaskier moves towards the bathroom, pausing to press a kiss.

And if he leaves the door cracked, letting his voice curl over the threshold with the steam, well, he did take requests.

o~O~o

Jaskier wasn’t expecting to find Triss perched on the side of the bed next to Geralt or the grin on her face. “Triss.” Jaskier manages, cheeks burning and grateful he’d grabbed clothes _before_ showering.

“Jaskier.” Triss says, smile widening. “Come up to see what you boys wanted for breakfast but stayed for the concert.” 

The elation of the morning slips from Jaskier at her words. He’d worked so hard to keep this from Geralt, not wanting to stress him over something he had no hopes of fixing.

“Eskel’s got eggs, biscuits, pancakes and bacon going. And I bet if we ask he’ll even do french toast.” Triss says, winking at Jaskier.

He knows there’s meant to be reassurance in the gesture, a secret kept between two friends but he’s not sure what it is and he tries to remind himself of Geralt’s words, family didn’t see it as a burden. 

“-worries. We can bring it up. Make it into a picnic.” Triss is saying, Jaskier having missed the part where Geralt stated what he wanted.

And now they’re looking at him but his mind is too busy trying to think through what would be an acceptable breakfast so he says the only thing he has to offer. “I’ll help you bring it up.” 

There’s worry in Geralt’s eyes when he looks at him and Jaskier hates that he’s the one who put it there but Triss is promising they’ll be back in a few minutes, Jaskier dutifully following, realizing too late he didn’t know if Geralt could rise on his own. 

Triss pauses at the bottom of the stairs, the delicious smell of breakfast wafting from the kitchen causing Jaskier’s stomach to clench painfully from hunger and shame. 

“Hey,” Triss takes his hands lightly in hers, grounding his racing thoughts. “We just want to help because we care but caring can be overbearing sometimes and we wouldn’t be upset if you wanted us to go. This is _your_ house and we basically invaded.” 

Jaskier’s automatic response is to reassure her they’re not imposing but she asked him for honesty and so he considers it and slowly admits, “I appreciate you being here and only want you to go so _we’re_ not imposing.” 

Triss’ smile is gentle as she hugs him. “Thank you, Jaskier. And like I said, it’s purely selfish on our part. We should’ve been here sooner.”

Before Jaskier can question, she’s leading him towards the kitchen where Eskel is at the stove, the island already lined with most of the promised offerings. “Hope you don’t mind scrambled.” Eskel says by way of greeting. 

“Doesn’t matter what he starts them as, it’s how they always end up.” Triss mock whispers to Jaskier. Eskel narrows his eyes at her and Triss narrows hers right back, mocking as she plucks a piece of bacon from the pile, offering Jaskier half but doesn’t push when he waves it away.

Eskel catches Triss’ eye as she turns from the cabinet, plates in hand, a silent conversation passing between them that Triss answers with a shake of her head. One Jaskier knows is about him.

Returning to the island, Triss puts the plates on the counter and sets her attention on Jaskier who tries not to shrink under it.

“I know Geralt usually does the grocery shopping.” Triss starts slowly, Jaskier’s arms coming up to wrap around himself. “And we just...we got a few staples to tide you over but...um.” Triss glances to Eskel, her lip pinned between her teeth as she turns back to Jaskier.

“Didn’t know if you’d be more comfortable going or wanted to make a list and we can just get the stuff for you.” She finishes apologetically.

Jaskier appreciates that she’s open, or close to it. Doesn’t pretend they aren’t aware he still struggles, excuse it away for him under the guise of not wanting to leave Geralt and it’s that grace that enables him to say, “If you wouldn’t mind a list…” 

Triss beams, nodding. “But _I’m_ paying.” Jaskier insists.

“Fair enough.” Triss agrees and Jaskier is relieved she understood his stipulation.

“Thank you.” He splits his gratitude between them, Eskel returning his smile as Triss had.

“Purely selfish.” She reminds him, passing over a plate.

It feels a bit surreal to Jaskier, only hours ago he was wandering around the kitchen, worried about what meal he would scrape together next and the seemingly unending dishes and now those dishes were stacked in the strainer and he just had to make a list. 

_Family take care of one another_. Geralt’s words come back to him and with a steadying breath Jaskier works at getting breakfast. “Thank you, Eskel. It smells wonderful.”

Eskel flashes him a grin, carrying over the skillet of eggs and adding them to the veritable buffet. Plates are deftly filled, Jaskier grateful to find a bowl of fresh, chopped fruit tucked among the heavier fare.

Jaskier waits for Eskel or Triss to comment on his meager portion, one pancake, a biscuit, small pile of eggs and a scoop of fruit all that he took but neither do and he’s not sure if that’s better or worse. With plates filled and drinks poured, they head back upstairs, Geralt sitting on the side of the bed looking decidedly unsure about Triss’ picnic idea. 

Though Geralt had tried, the most he could manage was sitting on the edge of the bed and he knew even that wasn't going to last long with the pain in his hip. His body, careless to the pain it would cause, had passed the hours writhing in pain and now he's stuck with its memory in a dull ache thrumming through him. 

Jaskier settles on the bed next to him after passing over a plate and putting a glass of juice within easy reach on the nightstand. Triss folding to the floor with more grace than Eskel who eyed her ease before attempting it for himself. 

Geralt can't help but steal glances at Jaskier's plate and the paltry serving upon it, trying to remind himself that at least he took _some_ and really a pancake _and_ biscuit is a feat in itself.

Talk threatens to be nonexistent, Eskel having confessed to Triss, leave both avoiding the topic of the White Wolf, neither sure how to update him without inadvertently making him feel like it’s an imposition or that he needs to try and hurry back.

"How'd the call go the other night? I'm sorry I didn't go..." Jaskier seems to regret his words, jamming a piece of fruit in his mouth before any others can follow.

"You were on your own Witcher call." Eskel reassures him with an easy smile, nodding his head towards Geralt. Jaskier's mouth twitches up at that, ducking his head as he steals a glance at Geralt but he’s staring at Eskel in a way that sobers Jaskier's mirth who turns back to him as well. 

"It didn't. Did it?" Geralt asks, but all know the answer before Eskel shakes his head to confirm.

"Didn't..." Jaskier looks between them, Triss having taken to pushing her food around her plate, delineating invisible lines between the different groups.

"Not everyone who calls _does_ leave in the end." Geralt explains slowly.

"But they called." Jaskier insists. "They wanted to..." 

"There's a canyon between wanting and going." Eskel says softly, Triss knocking his shoulder with hers, a silent reminder that he shouldn't carry the guilt, that he'd tried.

 _You were brave_ , I _was stupid_. Yennefer's words come back to him. She'd _wanted_ to go but hadn't been able to the first time they offered and looking at them now, Jaskier knows he's not the only one hoping whoever called the other night is able to call again and take that leap.

A heavy silence settles around them, broken only by the clink of forks and glasses until Jaskier offers, "It's really good, Eskel. Thank you." 

"Yeah." Triss says, leaning to the side a bit as she makes a show of looking Eskel over. "Guess we'll keep you around a bit longer." That earns a laugh and though it's weak, it helps.

Talk stutters on, safe topics that fill in the details normally picked up over the course of days spent together. Geralt's concern grows as Jaskier struggles with the remaining few bites, his arm having long since wrapped around his stomach, leaving his plate balanced on his lap. Eskel catches his eye and Geralt feels perversely relieved he's not the only one worried. 

He wants to tell Jaskier he doesn't need to finish, that he can tell he's hurting and he's done good. Reassure him he's not backsliding as bad as he believes he is, his routine is off and that, with the stress, has his stomach twisted up. But they have an audience and so Geralt works out how to convince him to stay instead.

The hum of a phone on vibrate sets Eskel shifting, Triss taking his plate as he leans, digging his phone out of his pocket, the careful schooling of his features intriguing Geralt but all Eskel offers is, "Sorry to eat and run but Lambert needs help." 

"I guess that concludes the breakfast hour." Triss laughs, smoothly unfolding and with a waitress' efficiency begins stacking the dishes. 

Jaskier tries to rise but a sharp twisting in his stomach arrests him, Geralt's gentle hands easing him back down to the bed even as he protests. "I've gotta help." 

Eskel, hands full of dishes courtesy of Triss, gives Jaskier an apologetic look, one Geralt is all too familiar with and has worn himself, more so in the early days when he so desperately wanted to help him but wasn't sure how. 

"Someone's got to stay and keep our wolf company." Triss offers the excuse with a smile over her shoulder as she stacks the glasses scattered about the room but Jaskier doesn't look convinced and it's a testament to how bad he's hurting that he doesn't rise and assist.

Abandoning the glasses, Triss moves to them, smiling softly at the arm Geralt has around Jaskier, the need to soothe him halted only by their presence and knowing it would only serve to make Jaskier more uncomfortable by drawing attention to what he sees as a sign of his weakness. Crouching before them, she lays her hand over his where it rests on his stomach, waiting for his gaze to meet hers before she says, "It's ok to need a rest. You already did the first hard part of the day. Let Geralt take care of you, ok?" 

Jaskier doesn't readily agree, his shoulders hunching and breathing hitching deciding for him as another pain wracks him. "I'm sorry. I think I need to lay down." Jaskier admits slowly, but Triss grins like it's the best thing she's heard.

Rising, she wraps Jaskier in a hug only long enough to whisper. "Thank you for asking for what you need." 

Jaskier stays tucked against Geralt until Triss follows Eskel out, pulling the door just to close behind them so the light from the downstairs doesn't overpower the room.

o~O~o

With reluctance, Geralt tries to gently wake Jaskier, even without Eskel's reminder, it was apparent Jaskier had been struggling. It had only been a couple hours but lunch was approaching and though he knew he was likely still feeling full from breakfast, Jaskier needed to eat, even if it was just a snack.

Gently rubbing his arm, Geralt presses a kiss to Jaskier’s forehead, softly calling his name but earns only shifts and frumpy noises of protest for his efforts. Tears burn Geralt's eyes, he'd missed this, wished they could stay like this, with Jaskier safe and peaceful in his arms but he'd neglected him too long already.

"Come on, babe. We need to get up." It's the plural that does it, drowsy limbs struggling to push himself up but Geralt's arm is still around him, encouraging him to take it slow. "Hey, we're ok."

Jaskier's head bobs and Geralt wishes he hadn't stolen the peace that had consumed him moments before but the time for wishing is long since past.

Though he'd gotten an uninterrupted night's sleep and now a brief nap, blue eyes still struggle to blink Geralt into focus, the dark smudges under them having barely lightened. Geralt knows it will take more than a night and a nap, but he'd hoped it would have helped more than it had. With reluctance Geralt says, "We should start thinking about lunch. What do you feel up for?"

The features that had been relaxed in sleep tighten at his question and Geralt knows he's fighting tears, that he's still raw from the week of hell Geralt had put him through and yet here he was again, asking him to venture one level deeper until he was too far in to find his way back out.

Jaskier snakes an arm around his waist as his shoulders hunch, Geralt knowing he's working himself up to saying something he fears won't be received well. "Triss, she, um, she offered for me to make her a grocery list." Jaskier admits to the bedspread covering Geralt, eyes snapping up as he hurries on. "But I insisted I would pay."

It was no secret that Jaskier still struggled with grocery shopping, but he'd been getting better, having taken on making out the lists himself, planning out the week's meals and the ingredients needed. Geralt wasn't sure why making a list upset Jaskier so, unless it was having to admit to Triss that he wasn't comfortable braving the store by himself?

"That was very kind of her and I'm sure she doesn't mind." Geralt reassures, silently cursing himself as he realizes the new fear he'd inadvertently instilled in Jaskier by admitting his own, his mind having twisted it around and turned it on himself as it was wont to do.

Jaskier nods, but his eyes drop back to the covers, searching as though he'll find his courage there. 

"It's ok to ask for help. Eskel told me that himself. They _want_ to help." The lie threatens to stick to his tongue but in his already distressed state Jaskier doesn't notice, just nods but looks no more convinced. "What's going on in that head of yours?" Geralt asks softly, hoping to draw Jaskier out, let him know it's safe.

And it does, only it breaks him in the process.

Crumpling back down to the bed as though the weight of safety were too much to bear, Jaskier burrows himself into Geralt's side, hand scrabbling until it finds his shirt, clenching the fabric. 

"I'll buh-be better. Puh-lease duh-hon't send muh-he-" Jaskier chokes out, Geralt wishing he could sit up, gather him in his arms but that's not possible, not without upsetting Jaskier further."Re-huh-hab." 

Geralt's hand spasms where it's holding Jaskier, a pained whimper drawing him back, forcing his grip to loosen though it does nothing to the bile that burns his throat. Geralt's mind scrambles to figure out how, even in Jaskier's mind, a shopping list leads to him being admitted into one of the programs the doctor had mentioned months ago. 

Geralt urges Jaskier up and with a protesting whimper, Jaskier goes, pulling away as he'd misunderstood Geralt's intent. "Jask, can you look at me?"

Chest heaving as he struggles with each gasped breath, Geralt makes sure his hands never leave Jaskier, thumbs rubbing grounding circles where they rest. 

"I'm suh-ry." Jaskier chokes out, head hanging.

"You're not going anywhere. Ok? But I need you to take a deep breath. Can you tell me five things you can feel?" It was a technique Geralt hadn't had to use in years, but one embedded in his memory from the terror of not knowing it the first time it was needed.

Jaskier lets out a whine, twitching in Geralt's grasp as though the question pains him. Feeling even more lost, Geralt tries again.

"Here, can you take a sip for me?" Geralt offers the glass of water on his nightstand, Jaskier moving to accept it with jerky motions and Geralt is grateful it's only half full. 

Geralt encourages Jaskier through sip after sip, his breathing easing by the time the glass is empty, a part of Geralt's mind chastising him that now Jaskier's filled with water he certainly won't want to eat but food won't matter if he's not breathing. 

"I'm sorry." Jaskier murmurs again, his eyes threatening to slip closed and stay that way, body having burned through that he'd gained in sleep.

Reassurances and apologies of his own tangle in Geralt's mouth but none of them are right, none of them will give him the help he needs. "I don't know where you got that idea," Geralt starts slowly, wanting to know if he'd implied it at some time without meaning to. "But _I_ don't think you need one of those programs and neither does your doctor. Ok? Remember your last appointment, they said things were looking good. You had your schedule-"

Jaskier's entire body cringes at the word. "I...I haven't..." He doesn't have to finish for Geralt to understand.

"Hey songbird." Geralt waits until weary eyes are dragged to his, can see the struggle as he fights not to look away. "You ate dinner." 

Jaskier's eyebrows draw in, upset turning to confusion even as he whispers, "Yeah." 

"And you had breakfast this morning." Geralt continues gently, Jaskier nodding reluctantly. "Through all that's going on, with how hard you've been taking care of me, you modified your routine to what you could handle and didn't cut food out entirely."

Panic thrums through Geralt at Jaskier's preternatural stillness, fearing what he'd meant to be showing how strong he was had only served as fodder for the lies his mind was churning. 

Jaskier nibbles his lower lip before admitting, "We've been out of fruit." 

"And you wanted smoothies?" Geralt says slowly. Jaskier nods, eyes flicking to Geralt, gauging his reaction but all he finds there is a supportive smile. 

Reaching up, Geralt cups Jaskier's face, thumb swiping away the tear track. "And when that wasn't possible you found something else."

With a watery sigh, Jaskier folds back into Geralt's side and a few shuddering breaths later he whispers, "I'm sorry I'm such a mess." 

"I collapsed in the ER and cried in Yenn's arms after...." Geralt admits, Jaskier shifting so his chin is propped on his chest, surprised blue eyes meeting his.

Finding similar ghosts mirrored in Geralt's eyes he tucks his head into his shoulder, hand drifting up once more to ground himself with his shirt, thinking this over. 

With a deep breath, Jaskier whispers, "I'm doing better." 

"You are. Everyday. Even if it doesn't feel like it, you are." Geralt murmurs, pulling Jaskier impossibly closer, vowing to remind him for the rest of their days.

Jaskier makes no motion to move from the comfort of Geralt's embrace and Geralt can't bring himself to encourage him to do so, knowing that what started this whole thing is still needed but having the faith that, given time, Jaskier will do it on his own. Though the act would be simple to anyone else, it's what he needs.

Long enough has passed that Geralt thinks Jaskier had been claimed by sleep once more only for his soft voice to say, "I haven't made her a list yet but-"

A light rapping at the door cuts Jaskier off, the door pushing open as Triss pokes her head in. "Sorry to interrupt. It's the lunching hour and I thought you guys might be up for some?"

Geralt holds carefully still but he'd needn't have feared as Jaskier shifts up onto an elbow. "That'd be good. Can I help?" 

If she's able to see his puffy eyes and blotchy cheeks it doesn't show, instead she grins and says, "That'd be great. Could always use another set of hands." 

Turning back to Geralt, Jaskier asks, "Need anything?" 

Truthfully, he could use the bathroom but he can manage that on his own, or he will, he's not about to waylay Jaskier, not from this. "I'm good." 

Stretching up, Jaskier presses a quick kiss before he's working himself off the bed, his careful movements telling Geralt he's still tender from breakfast. 

With a final look to assure himself that Geralt truly is fine, Jaskier steps from the bedroom to find Triss waiting at the top of the stairs, a finger pressed to her lips, preemptively silencing him. Joining her with a raised eyebrow, Jaskier quickly finds she wasn't wrong in warning off his questions as what he spies below raises many.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Many.Things.  
> Many of you asked for some family intervention and we're slowly collecting more and more of them at the house. Next couple chapters and you might have the whole set!  
> I completely forgot about Jaskier asking about rehab and had my own feels seize in editing, you're welcome.  
> And the ticket windows are open if you want to place your bets on what Jaskier saw.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things like this didn't just happen, there were discussions and plans and–

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright...the betting windows are closed and we can proceed to find out just what or who Jaskier saw downstairs.
> 
> I can't thank you enough for reading and sharing your thoughts! They really brighten my week. And a huge thank you to VeritasRose for betaing!

Geralt doesn’t expect to find Eskel driving his walker over when he opens the bathroom door. “Trying it out? Make sure you know what model Lambert should get you?” Geralt deadpans.

Eskel’s eyes narrow on him, both saying, “I’m not your keeper, old man.” 

The easy teasing takes the sting out of Eskel positioning the walker before him. “Thought you might come down for lunch.”

The majority of Geralt knows the offer is as it sounds but the smallest part of him still doubts, wonders if they found breakfast so awkward they couldn’t bear to repeat it. 

“I’ll steady you if you don’t think you’re up for it.” Eskel offers slowly, uncertainty clear and Geralt doesn’t know how to admit the fear of falling down the stairs hadn’t registered. 

For all that he wasn’t a burden, there were still some things Geralt couldn’t bring himself to admit. With an absence of shame that Geralt was loath to accept as becoming normal, he grips the walker. The relief is immediate, the quivering in his leg all but stopping even as the back brace guilts him from across the room.

In another year, a different accident, with fewer shames between them, Geralt would have asked Eskel to cage him in, but not now. Not yet.

With cautious steps, body weary from days strung tight with pain, Geralt moves towards the bedroom door, Eskel keeping easy pace.

Geralt doesn’t immediately note the difference, focusing more on making it to the stairs and trying to manage collapsing the walker while Eskel stands mutely by. It’s this frustration that draws Geralt’s attention up, fighting a snap he knows Eskel doesn’t deserve, when he sees it.

The living room had been rearranged, the couch pushed against the kitchen wall and in its place is a bed. A fully made up bed.

Eskel shifts beside him, a telling action as he isn’t restless, not like Lambert who behaves like a caged animal on his best days.

A dangerous blend of too many things he'd rather not put name to thrums through Geralt. Things like this didn't just _happen_ , there were discussions and plans and–

"Yennefer suggested it, said it might be easier on Jaskier so he doesn't have to keep going upstairs." Eskel explains slowly, recognizing too well the preternatural stillness that had stolen over Geralt. 

"Jaskier left it up to you, didn't know if you would be comfortable with the setup. "He," Eskel pauses, debating the merit of his next words. "Said he could use the exercise anyway."

The walker is the only thing that keeps him on his feet, Eskel's steadying hand keeping it from sliding forward and delivering unto them more problems. Geralt trembles with the shame of his selfishness that seems to know no bounds. Would he never stop putting himself before them? Before Jaskier?

Eskel can't discern the look on his brother's face but knows whatever he's thinking can't be good. "If you don't-"

"It's...what he needs. Thank you for think– _making_ it happen." Geralt murmurs, gaze still trained on the bed below.

With hands that refuse to stop shaking, Geralt works at collapsing the walker, too filled with shame to be hungry for lunch but Jaskier needs it and he'll be damned if he takes more from him than he already has.

Equally rough hands replace his own. "I've got it." Eskel's voice is low, for Geralt's benefit or Jaskier, who is surely somewhere below, Geralt isn't sure and reasons it doesn't really matter anyway.

With the folded walker tucked under one arm, Eskel fills the space at Geralt's good side, offering his silent support. Unbeknownst to the other, Eskel's harsh words echo back, the ascent that had started his ire that ended in him battering his brother with false accusations and now that same stubbornness threatening to rear its head if Geralt weren't already buried under considerably more than six feet of shame.

Geralt's hand trembles where it clasps Eskel's shoulder, though neither bring voice to its existence, or the surely bruising grip it takes on as they slowly descend. One step at a time, taking far longer than Geralt has to spare, his own body still trying to mend itself hadn't appreciated the hellcation of the past few days and lodges its protest now. 

A sick popping noise draws Eskel up short, Geralt's fingerprints memorialized on his skin in purple hues as he fights to stay up.

Geralt's eyes are closed, measured out breaths as he tries to remember how to exist around the pain. The need to sit, to stop moving is what forces an explanation. "Doc said it would happen as the swelling went down. Physical therapy should help." 

Even though he can't see it, Geralt can practically hear Eskel's eyes narrowing on him. "PT? Which you've–" 

"As though you haven't done enough let me remind you of yet another-" 

"Geralt?" Jaskier's worried voice cuts off Geralt's growled words, Eskel going rigid under his hand. "Here, I'll take that." 

Geralt opens his eyes at Jaskier's words, surprised to find him looking apologetically at Eskel as he moves to take the walker, realizing Jaskier believed the words were in regard to Eskel not _him_. The relief buckles his knees.

" _Shit_." Lambert snaps, appearing in the archway to the kitchen, Triss at his shoulder. No sooner has Jaskier cleared the stairs with the walker then Lambert is moving up them, not caring there's not enough space for the three of them across. "You with us?" Lambert asks, searching golden eyes.

Of course Eskel didn't manage all this by himself, Lambert _had_ needed help, it just happened to be at his own front door.

"I'm here." Geralt concedes. 

"Lambert." Eskel implores. 

Lambert rolls his eyes even as he backs down the steps, grumbling. " _You're_ the one that nearly let him take a header."

Geralt's cheeks burn under all the attention, Jaskier the only one even attempting to look like he isn't bracing for Geralt to come tumbling down, putting more effort into locking the walker into function again.

Eskel doesn't move from Geralt's side once they reach the bottom step, waiting for Geralt to shift his grip from his shoulder to the walker Jaskier has at the ready. If Geralt weren't ready to rattle out of his skin he would have noticed the way Jaskier was trying to make himself smaller, the uncertainty weighing him down, as it were, it takes all he has not to snap. Again.

With a forcing hand on Lambert's shoulder, one that would appear guiding to any who were new to Lambert's particular brand of ornery, Eskel encourages him into the kitchen. Triss watches Geralt from her leaning place, barely shifting when Lambert brushes her passing by. 

Geralt meets her eyes, finding only worry, her hands twisted in the cuffs of her sweater, a nervous habit she'd never broken. "I'm ok." He assures her and though she doesn't call him on the lie, he sees the hurt in those blue depths before she turns away.

“Want to eat in here?” Jaskier’s question pulls Geralt’s attention back to him. 

Though Geralt knew the ache that awaited him, sitting at the kitchen table meant he could ignore his new living arrangements and all they implied.

“Kitchen is fine.” Jaskier’s eyes flick nervously past him to the bed, contempt having made his words sharp. 

He can see Jaskier’s mind working, figuring out a way to have the bed removed, without placing the blame on Geralt. Trying to find a way to make his life harder so Geralt’s bruised pride can be soothed.

“I’m sure they’ll move it if you want it closer to the fireplace.” Blue eyes snap back to him and Geralt pretends to misread the protest there. “Or put the couch back and the bed against the wall. Either way is fine with me.”

Geralt knows the key to a good lie is not to linger to see if it’s believed so with that he begins his slow way into the kitchen only to find the counter lined with containers he doesn’t recognize. The fridge and freezer stand open, Eskel working at fitting what he can within. Triss, armed with masking tape and a marker, is carefully labeling before passing them over.

“Mack dropped off some food.” Lambert drawls from where he’s helping hold up the counter, beer in hand.

“Mack.” Geralt repeats, trying to align the name with the visual before him.

“Um...the one from the hospital?” Jaskier supplies. Geralt is grateful the timidness from when he’d first brought up Mack was absent. 

Geralt has more questions but the stairs were quickly taking their toll and he desperately needs to sit. Jaskier’s hand on his back warns him he’s looking as rough as he feels. As he makes his way to the table Triss expands on the piece-meal information.

“Mack dropped this...or maybe...he dropped off _one_ of these at the Wolf. Sends his regards and insists you call if either of you need anything.” 

Geralt smiles a bit at this, glancing at Jaskier who’s got the faintest blush, at the subtle reminder of his place among them.

Jaskier hovers as Geralt lowers himself into a chair, his hip clicking but absent of a new pain. Triss continuing as though this were normal.

“Families have been dropping them off at the bar since, well, pretty much since you were released.”

“He works fast.” Eskel says, Geralt knowing he’s only partially joking.

“And I brought them over. You won’t need to worry about cooking for a few weeks.” Lambert finishes, Geralt catching Jaskier’s hand and giving it a squeeze, hoping he doesn’t take offense but it seems the sheer care in the act themselves have worked as a temper.

“Alright, Jaskier.” I think we’ve got just about everything labeled. What sounds good? Figured I’d run to the store after we eat seeing as I have a couple voluntolds to help me.”

It’s easy for Geralt to spot Jaskier’s anxiety at the prospect of so many decisions revolving around food. Not to mention the added pressure of it occurring in front of others, even though they were the most understanding.

Geralt drops Jaskier’s hand, effectively gaining his attention. Reaching up he gently tugs at the hem of his shirt, murmuring, “Small victories.” 

Jaskier’s expression softens, how many things had seemed insurmountable but he’d done it with the support of his family. Just as he would now.

Moving closer to the counter, Triss picks up where she’d apparently left off while Eskel was helping him down the stairs. Putting name to each dish, she even manages to get Jaskier to pick out a side and in a feat, a dessert.

Not for the first time does something ease in Geralt as he’s reassured Jaskier is cared for, is surrounded by support that isn’t just him. 

o~O~o

Jaskier knows he should shut off the water, that it’s wasteful to just let it run but this pain is sharper than the last. The sponge is pinned between his fingers and the sink wall, knuckles white and head bowed as he tries to breathe through the band tightening his stomach. 

His thoughts narrow to his breathing, the careful draw in and slow exhale.

Again.

And again.

And–

“You ok?” Jaskier starts at the voice. They’d finished lunch which had included a few bites of dessert and as much as Jaskier had wanted to climb into the new bed with Geralt, he knew he’d feel better if he kept moving.

It also didn’t hurt that he’d lay claim to the chore of dishes since Triss was already going to the store for him.

“Sorry.” Lambert rumbles, looking unsure. “You...want me to take you to Geralt?”

Jaskier shakes his head. “‘M fine.”

Lambert doesn’t look convinced, eyes dropping to the hand Jaskier has pressed to his stomach, a warm wetness seeping through his thin shirt.

“Bit too much lunch I guess.” Lambert’s expression tightens and Jaskier hurries on, not wanting him to worry. “I’m just off my...routine.” 

“Fuck.” Lambert breathes, Jaskier nodding solemnly. “Want help?”

“You want to help me do dishes?” Jaskier cringes at how rude the words sound but Lambert smirks at his honesty and favors him with some of his own.

“No.” Jaskier grins at that, huffing a laugh.

With the pain having eased for the time being Jaskier turns back to the sink. “Thought you’d gone with Triss and Eskel.” 

His words are punctuated by slamming drawers, Jaskier glancing over just in time to watch Lambert find the dish towels, looking almost disappointed at his victory.

“Nope.” Lambert pops the ‘p’.

Jaskier nods, turning back to the sink, a new pain filling him. They still thought he needed a sitter. First it had been Ciri and now Lambert, who didn’t even trust him enough he’d taken up doing dishes.

“You don’t need to do that. I’m fine. Really.” Jaskier doesn’t look away from the plate, already scrubbed clean.

“Never said you weren’t.” Lambert quips, Jaskier nodding slowly, lips pressed tight.

It’s his tight movements that give him away, pointedly avoiding looking in Lambert’s direction and avoiding any chance their hands might brush.

“I just wanted to talk to you. To apologize.” Lambert growls, frustrated.

 _That_ earns Jaskier’s attention. “Apologize?”

“Shit. I’m not good at this.” Lambert grumbles, looking caged. “I didn’t mean for you to take care of Geralt on your own. He’s one of ours, you both are.”

Jaskier turns from the sink, propping his hip against it he faces Lambert, his hand subconsciously drifting up to his cramping stomach. “I never thought you did.” Jaskier tells him slowly.

Lambert glares at him. “In the hospital I told you we’d take care of everything else, _you_ just take care of Geralt.” 

“I...those days are mostly a blur.” Jaskier admits. There were moments that still haunted him, namely the feel of Geralt struggling in his grip and the naked whine that had torn from his throat.

Lambert looks lost, absolved of a blame he was prepared to shoulder, one he’d hoped would ease the guilt that shadowed Jaskier’s eyes each time he looked at Geralt.

“We should’ve been here sooner.” Lambert insists.

“You trusted I had things.”

It’s the simplest truth but it hurts the worst.

“Better fucking call next time.” Lambert growls.

“I will.” Jaskier swears, turning back to the dishes only once Lambert’s nodded his acceptance.

Those days were mostly a blur for Jaskier, moments he’d rather forget, but tucked among them were instances that reminded him he was one of them.

Breakfast with Eskel.

Triss finding solace in his embrace.

The security of Lambert’s arms. Helping him up, reminding his heart how to beat when he felt it stop on the hospital floor.

They were his family, he just needed reminding of what that meant once in a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could that be...was that...dear god has she done it? Was that... _fluff_?
> 
> (In your best Sesame Street voice) Brought to you by the story that gives you tender sponge-baths and surprise beds.


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Pama?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been brought to my attention that the fluff last chapter wasn't as fluffy as I thought so I thought I'd take another stab at your feels, I mean fluff. F words are hard ;)
> 
> Thank you! For being here and reading. And huge thanks to VeritasRose for betaing!

"They can wait." Jaskier tells him, missing the frown it earns as he works the soft sleep pants up Geralt's legs.

"So can I." Geralt counters, hand closing over Jaskier's where it's tying the pant's laces. The shower had taken more out of him than he wanted to admit and though he could push himself to attempt the stairs, he knew too well what that would cost him and he didn't want to scare Ciri.

Jaskier nods, understanding. "It shouldn't be more than a few minutes but-"

"I'll call if I need anything. Best not keep her waiting, wouldn't put it past Lambert to have started teaching her how to pick locks." Geralt says, only partially kidding.

"He...I don't know why I'm still surprised by these things." Jaskier mutters, earning a laugh from Geralt. With a final look to assure himself Geralt is fine, Jaskier stretches up for a quick kiss and steps from the bathroom, moving the walker into easy reaching distance in his place.

Geralt waits for him to go, listens to his footsteps and only once he's positive Jaskier is downstairs does he flip off the bathroom light as he'd been doing.

He knew it was childish, that it wouldn't fill in the new valleys of ruin or smooth the seams from where they'd stitched him back together again; that he should be grateful the battleground of his body had survived another assault. But he'd used up all his gratitude on that damned walker, on the glimmer of hope that his hip would heal enough he'd be able to handle Roach.

With a shake of head, Geralt disperses the bitter thoughts, knowing the dark hole they wish to guide him down. No, Ciri was just downstairs, excited to see her pama, had oh so politely called that morning. " _Mommy says it's not polite to invite yourself over but if I brings you lunch I can stay and visit until dinner?"_

Geralt smiles at the memory, certain Yennefer had been shaking her head as she listened on and Ciri tried her best to follow her instructions. The sound of Yennefer and Jaskier's voices are lost to brushing his teeth and by the time he's making his careful way to the bed, they've moved out of range. Lowering himself to sit on the side Geralt wills Jaskier to take his time, to find something to occupy them while he totters his way down the stairs. 

He'd debated waiting until closer to dinner, to when he could impose on Eskel to help him down, but then Ciri had called and changed everything. It would take most of their visit for him to make it upstairs, shower and then back down. Jaskier had noted the conflict right away and reminded Geralt he could help him down or they could bring lunch up and Eskel could help him downstairs before dinner.

Geralt didn't know how to tell Jaskier, without hurting him, that he feared the strain helping him down the stairs would put on his heart. A part of him knew it was minimal, Geralt mostly just needed someone to steady him but the fear was still there, right next to the stubborn part of him that insisted he would make it downstairs for lunch.

Looking around for a shirt, Geralt catches himself and wonders when exactly he'd started expecting Jaskier to have done things for him. Deciding it stopped now and actually undertaking the action to ensure it was stopped were two different things unfortunately. 

Though it wasn't far to the dresser, the feeling of relief from sitting, the promise of pain lurking in the near future, waiting for him to stand, is enough to keep him sitting. 

_Asking_ Jaskier to get him a shirt was different. Wasn't it? He didn't expect him...to say anything but yes and beam with the prospect of not only helping Geralt but that he'd asked. Just what exactly had his life become?

With a disgusted sigh, Geralt braces himself for standing, he could ask Jaskier to wait if he needed to rest before attempting the stairs, he would have to manage them mostly on his own with Jaskier as his crutch.

Hating that the padding is already molding to his grip, Geralt drags the walker closer, with a count of three breaths he pushes himself to standing on the second. What relief the hot shower brought had been undone by going still, hip protesting as he forced it to bear even some of his weight. 

He would get his shirt, get it _on_ , and then take a few laps up and down the balcony, he'd gotten off his own routine and needed to get better about walking more. Jaskier could put the brace on easy enough when he came up to get him and–

"Pama?"

Geralt's head snaps up at the small voice, green eyes welling with tears, her lip quivering as she repeats, "Pama?" As though she were mistaken, as though it were some impostor.

"Ciri-" Geralt doesn't get a chance to finish, the imploring hand he reached out to her too much as she turns and flees, the sound of her cries echoing in his ears. He wasn't her pama, he was a monster.

o~O~o

Yennefer turns before Jaskier does, years having attuned her to Ciri's distress, that particular pitch to her voice that awakens an instinct borne unto her from Istredd. 

Jaskier follows a second later, still processing what he's heard, trying to make sense of it but he doesn't have to wait long as Ciri doesn't try to slow herself as she tackles Yennefer, Jaskier's supporting hands keeping them both up.

"Baby, what is it?" Even as she asks, Yennefer's hands are skimming over Ciri, searching for rent flesh, blood, bruises, anything that would warrant this level of distress.

"Muh-muh-eee. _Nooo_. Nuh-huh-ooo muh-" Jaskier watches helplessly as her little chest heaves, uncertain what could have upset her so. There hadn't been any noise as though something had fallen on her and–

"Shh, Ciri. It's ok. Deep breaths for me ok, Again. It's all going to be ok." Yennefer's soothing voice had been working until her promise, Ciri's breaths ratcheting up, her little head shaking so furiously Jaskier fears she'll truly hurt herself.

"Nooo, mommy, pama's-" Jaskier doesn't hear what he is, his mind supplying enough horrors on its own. 

He doesn't notice Yennefer's head snap towards him as he's already moving, taking the stairs too fast, foot slipping his hands bark in pain as they prevent his chest from meeting their unforgiving edges. Feet scrabbling for purchase even as he pushes himself up, shin aching and hands clumsy in their haste.

Jaskier doesn't have to ask what happened, he knew from the moment Ciri had uttered his title, the grace she bestowed upon him with such terror in her voice. It wasn't _what_ had happened that scared Jaskier, it was what occurred in the moments following. 

The sight of the bedroom door closed, no light shining from underneath, stutters Jaskier's heart. He feared the death that lurked behind the door, Jaskier didn't believe Geralt would take his own, there was no fear for that in this moment. No, he worried that this would be Geralt's unmaking, the kind soul that was only seen by his closest kin, devastated beyond repair. 

Jaskier's hand shakes where it reaches for the knob, trepidation mounting as too long would pass before Lambert or Eskel could make it there, knowing a mere door wouldn't keep them from their brother.

It turns easily in Jaskier's hand, as much as Geralt longed to keep others out, he would never do so at their expense. The door opens, cutting a path of light across the floor that ends in Geralt, sitting on the side of the bed, shoulders hunched and head bowed. 

Jaskier fights the urge that rises in him to wrap himself around Geralt, to counter every doubt Geralt's mind offers up until he's hoarse and then he'll mouth them upon his skin.

That's what he wants to give, but that's not what Geralt needs.

Perching on the bed next to him, Jaskier knows there's no real victory that Geralt doesn’t shy away, that he doesn’t simply leave, his autonomy having been hobbled. Draping an arm around his shoulders, Geralt stiffens, lurching forward as though burned until Jaskier removes his arm, feeling as though he's silently upholding mistaken beliefs, but he'll never force touch.

"Please leave." Geralt's voice is rough, the words brittle.

"No." Jaskier 's denial is soft but it lands like a blow.

"I know you're not cruel. I am asking this of you." Geralt's words are low, each one bitten off and carefully controlled, though it pains Jaskier no less.

"I'm not leaving you to whatever lies-"

"They are not lies, Jaskier." There's an edge to his voice that makes Jaskier nervous, that urges him to go, that warns danger. "She _fled_ from a monster."

"You're not a monster." Jaskier 's voice is small but more than that, he hates that those words have consumed all other thoughts. 

Before more can be said, Yennefer's voice reaches them, murmuring reassurances to Ciri as they mount the stairs.

Without Geralt having to ask him, Jaskier rises, pushing the door until it's barely open, but if Yennefer notices she doesn't acknowledge his presence. 

They listen to the sound of their footsteps, Ciri still softly crying, every few breaths hitching, until they slow to a stop. Muffled sounds neither can decipher but are soothing in their cadence.

Geralt is strung tight beside him, collecting himself until he can face them. He'll start with Yennefer, apologize even as he asks them to go. Then will be Jaskier, he will be harder, but Geralt has no doubt Triss won't mind if he stays, just until Eskel can get an apartment ready for him. He'll protest, want to stay, but in the end he'll go, because Geralt will make him.

"Come here, baby." Yennefer's voice is calming, a few moments later it seems Ciri had done as her mom encouraged. "I know you're scared but there's no reason to be." 

"But _pama_ , mommy, he's _hurted_." Ragged breaths accompany each word, panic ramping back up.

Calm as ever, Yennefer starts. "You know how uncle Eskel has those marks on his face."

"From when he helped peoples?" Ciri asks, Jaskier remembering too late, a conversation with Eskel.

"That's right. You know your pama helps people too?"

"He's the leader of the Witchers, they saves people from bad men." Ciri agrees. “He saved us.”

“That’s right. And sometimes when he helps people he gets some owies, just like your uncle Eskel.” 

Jaskier can’t make out more than the huddled shape next to him, the curtains still drawn keeping the room cast in shadow. He knows he needs to say something and has a good feeling that Yennefer is working towards Ciri seeing her pama, knowing the damage can’t be undone but hopefully lessened, for both of them. It’s what they both desperately need.

“She’s not afraid of you _because_ of your scars.” Geralt huffs a grunt. “Well ok, yes it was but not…” Jaskier swallows, desperately trying to recall any vestige of how Eskel had phrased it. 

Rising, Jaskier moves the walker aside, kneeling in its place. Geralt’s bowed hair creates a curtain, casting his features into depths Jaskier has no hope of seeing, but he’s not afraid of the dark, not when Geralt is there with him.

“She’s scared _for_ you, she doesn’t understand that these are long past.” Moving slowly should Geralt shy from him once more, Jaskier risks a touch, slipping his hand in the poorly buttoned flannel Geralt had pulled on, blind in the dim room, but Jaskier doesn’t need to see to know the map of Geralt’s body.

Avoiding the fresh scars, his calloused fingertips feeling like sandpaper on the new skin, instead he traces older ones, ones whose stories are lost to the beholder, all save for one, that one, he presses his palm flush against. “That you’re ok. She’s absolutely terrified she’s gonna _lose_ you.”

Geralt turns the words over, her little voice on the other side of the door still so shaky, _wanting_ to believe her mom but the truth was hard to accept when you had nightmares masquerading as memories.

“She fled.” Geralt protests weakly one last time, it was worse than any blow dealt in all his years, it had brought him to his knees.

“To the people she knew who could help.” Jaskier tells him softly. “She _begged_ us to help you.” 

Geralt lifts his head, trusting Jaskier would never lie to him, but more than that, his little cub needed him, even if this was the last time. She needed _him_ and so he nods.

Cool fingers cup his face, a soft noise of surprise sounding from Jaskier at the unexpected wetness on his cheeks, roughened thumbs swiping away the tears before he’s leaning forward, pressing a kiss. And then another when he fears the first isn’t fully believed.

With reluctance, Jaskier rises, a part of him fearing in the time it will take him to cross to the door, all will be undone. Opening the door he’s met with Yennefer sitting on the floor, back against the railing and Ciri in her lap, head resting against her mom’s shoulder. 

“Pama?” Ciri little more than mouths the word, her eyes trying to look past Jaskier into the bedroom. Yennefer meets his gaze, an entire conversation passing between them and Jaskier nods.

“He’s ok. But he’s worried about _you_. Do you want to see him?” Yennefer asks, whispering the words in Ciri’s ear. “It’s ok if you don’t.

Yennefer doesn’t get the chance to finish, Ciri already scrambling to stand and as she heads for the door Jaskier offers Yennefer a hand up. They stay where they are against the railing, close enough if needed but this was a moment for those two alone.

Geralt forces himself to turn at Ciri’s approach, her soft snuffling masking her footsteps, finding her lingering in the doorway. “I’m sorry for scaring you, little cub.” Geralt forces, the shame of it scaring his throat anew.

Ciri glances back to her mom for reassurance and at her nod she looks back at Geralt, managing one step closer. “Mommy said you’d been hurted a lot but you’re ok now?”

“I’m getting there.” Geralt had never lied to her and he sure as hell wasn’t going to start now for his comfort.

“But you’re hurted.” Frustrated tears track down Ciri’s cheeks as she brokenly whispers, “No lying pama.” 

Geralt glances to Yennefer, trepidation in his eyes but the slightest shifting of Jaskier draws his attention and he finds the strength he needs there, the assurance that this will help. 

“You shouldn’t be afraid of the dark,” Geralt starts slowly. “But it does hide things and make them look scarier than they are.” His eyes flick over Ciri’s head, finding Jaskier who understands his silent plea. He doesn’t pause inside the door as Geralt expects, instead he crosses to first one window, then the other, pushing back the curtains and bathing the room in the fresh light of a spring morning.

Geralt falters then, uncertain in his next actions but a look from Jaskier who offers a small, supportive smile, gives him the assurance he needs. The slight tremor to his hands makes the flannel as hard to unbutton as it had to try and button it, though this time the shaking is from nerves instead of pain.

Jaskier’s gentle hands are there, easily slipping free the buttons before easing the loose flannel off his shoulders so it pools around his waist before stepping aside. Geralt hears the soft gasp Yennefer can’t quite contain but he doesn’t dare tear his eyes from Ciri, knowing his resolve lies in her. He rests his elbow on his knee, as far as his broken body allows him to stretch, his hand beckoning her closer. 

With hesitant steps Ciri approaches, silent tears still tracking down her cheeks as her eyes flit from one scar to the next. 

“They’re scars, little cub. Do you know what that means?” Ciri shakes her head, watery grey eyes peering up at him. “Scars are when you get hurts that take a while to heal. But scars mean that it’s all better, I’m not hurt anymore.” 

“You got lots of hurts.” Ciri murmurs.

Geralt swallows hard and Jaskier gives him the words he doesn’t have. “Some are from accidents and some are from helping people.” 

“Like when you saved mommy and me.” Ciri brightens a little at the understanding but Geralt can’t bring himself to speak yet and so he nods, knowing that look in her eye, the one that says she’s going to be scrambling into his lap before the next breath is through. Ciri steps closer before coming to a rigid halt, eyes brimming with a new wave of tears and Geralt wishes in that moment the car had taken him, that he didn’t have to see the hesitation in his little cub’s eyes to touch him.

“They’re old hurts baby, it’s ok.” Yennefer’s voice is wet with tears but it’s all the permission Ciri needs before she’s launching herself at Geralt, her tiny arms wrapping around his neck and he understands _she_ was afraid of hurting him. 

Geralt grits his teeth against the white hot pain her slight weight sends up his back and knocks the breath from his lungs, the meager contents of his stomach churning but he’d bear it a thousand times over for her as she whispers, “I love you, pama.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how you all couldn't wait for Ciri to see her pama, kinda wishing you had been more specific huh?  
> But there was fluff, there, at the end. Ok it was smashed and dug out from the couch cushions but still! A tendril of fluff? Wisp? A wisp of fluff?  
> Yell at me in the comments, you know you want to and I want you to.


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt finally forces himself to look at Jaskier, offering a smile that’s too tight and empty, wondering how he’s going to tell him, how he can make Jaskier understand he knows their day is coming too and Geralt won’t blame him, just as he doesn’t the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see you checking the finer print there on that whole djinn wish contract where it was all "Let's have more family show up! Ciri and Yenn!". And appreciate after that ~~heartwarming~~ reunion you've given me another chance. I've scraped up all the fluff from previous chapters and made some nice gauze for you.  
> Thank you so much for reading! And a huge thank you to VeritasRose for betaing.

At the sound of Triss’s camera going off, again, Geralt looks up, finding her patiently waiting for the camera Jaskier had given her to finish printing her latest snapshot.

Geralt doesn’t argue that she’s wasting her film this time, Eskel having assured him he’d been buying it by the case at the same time she’d argued it wasn’t a waste and one day Ciri would want these memories even if he didn’t.

So no, Geralt doesn’t argue because he understands why Triss catalogs every moment she can, why she has an entire bookcase of albums and makes one each year specifically for Yennefer. Foster kids didn’t have photos and for all his protesting, she knew Geralt cherished each one she gave him, put them in albums of his own. 

“...Rumplestein.” At the mispronunciation Geralt turns back to Ciri.

“One more time.” Geralt chides, she’d been struggling with the name since they started the story.

“What in the he- _ck_ do you have her suffering through?” Lambert asks, appearing from the kitchen and eyeing the thick book Ciri has propped in her lap where she’s leaned against Geralt’s uninjured side.

“Grimm's Fairy Tales!” Ciri proudly declares, having been so enthralled by Geralt’s leather bound edition, small fingers having reverently traced the gilded letters again and again.

“ _The_ Grimm Fairy Tales?" Eskel questions, appearing behind Lambert, looking concerned and a bit impressed at Geralt’s audacity. 

Geralt frowns, hating how his supine position tempers his disappointment. “Yes. But one _she_ can read.” 

“Who’s this Rumple person?” Lambert asks, moving closer.

“Rumplestin.” Ciri supplies, turning the book around so Lambert can see the picture. 

“Rumple- _still-skin_.” Geralt pronounces slowly, Ciri having adopted the habit of filling in the sounds of words she didn’t know by calling it something close.

“Still doesn’t tell me who it is. He one of them castle boys?”

Geralt and Eskel are still blinking, trying to decipher what Lambert’s talking about when Jaskier starts laughing so hard he’s gasping as he clings to Triss, repeating ‘castle boys’, no sign of composure in sight. 

Triss, either having figured it out or caught the giggle contagion, is cracking up beside him, finally drawing Yennefer from the kitchen.

“I don’t remember fairy tales being this good?” She asks, glancing around. 

“Lambert, us peasants refer to them simply as _princes,_ but castle boys is _so_ much better.” Jaskier gasps out.

Lambert's eyes narrow on Jaskier who has fallen into giggles again but there's no anger in the look, not when it's such a relief to see him laugh, to hear his brother's rough rumble on the other side.

"What's a pheasant?" Ciri asks.

"A bird. But he said _peasant_." Lambert corrects.

"What's a _peasant_?" Ciri repeats, forcefully pronouncing the new word.

Lambert shrugs, lost on how to define it in a manner a seven year old would understand. "Like a farmer? But not anymore."

"It was a nice way of being mean to someone who worked with their hands for a living. They were considered to not be as good as other people." Geralt explains, Ciri having twisted around to listen.

Ciri thinks this over and Jaskier takes the distraction to move Geralt's walker over to the bed, knowing he's going to insist on eating at the table for Sunday dinner. "Is it a _bad_ word?"

Geralt can guess where this is going and a look to Yennefer confirms he's not wrong but they didn't lie to her and so he admits, "Not swear jar worthy. No."

Ciri gets a grin that she picked up from none other than Lambert and Geralt knows in a few weeks time Yennefer will be telling them about Ciri getting in trouble at school for calling some kid a peasant.

"Smile now, _you_ can break her of her new favorite word." Yennefer warns him.

"Won't be the first time." Geralt remarks, leveling a look at Lambert who is pointedly not acknowledging the gaze.

"Are you at a stopping point to put story hour on hold? Dinner is almost ready." Jaskier urges.

"I needs to set the table. Sorry pama. I'll finish Rumplescritchin after dinner." Carefully replacing the bookmark that kept place between one story and the next, Ciri scrambles off the bed, Yennefer and Eskel moving forward to scoop her up as the careless jostling sends waves of pain through his hip and back but Geralt holds up a hand, waving them off.

It hurt and his threshold had been raised higher just recently but more than that, he didn't want her to feel bad, to saddle her with the knowledge that she'd hurt him, however unintentionally.

Triss is quick to offer her hand, encouraging Ciri into the kitchen before she can turn and see Geralt, eyes closed and taking measured breaths as the waves of pain ebb.

"We can eat in here. We'll get you sitting up and then you can lay back down." Jaskier's voice is pitched low even though he's crouched by the side of the bed, hand hovering but afraid to touch.

Opening his eyes, Geralt's relief at finding the others having moved into the kitchen is carried by shame, thinking how awkward it must be for them to keep being forced to witness his weakness.

"I'm fine. I can make it." Geralt assures, the doubtful look he'd once admired Jaskier artfully arranged his features into is one he wishes he saw less often. "Really, the new meds are helping."

With a trust Geralt will do anything not to break, Jaskier straightens, pressing a kiss to Geralt as he goes and Geralt finds himself blurting, "You always look so good in blue." 

Jaskier's hand tugs nervously at the shirt, one he'd gotten months ago with Yennefer and was steadily creeping towards too small. "I've worn it before."

Geralt eases his hand into Jaskier’s, effectively pulling it away from his worrying. "Doesn't make it any less true." 

Jaskier blushes, head ducking but from Geralt's angle the smile is all his. 

Jaskier doesn't use the pretense of checking over the walker as Geralt pushes himself up, not anymore and Geralt appreciates this more, not feeling watched but looked after, or at least that's what he tells himself.

He hadn't been lying when he said the new meds were helping, though his hip still ached, he figured that was expected after having landed on it as he did. It also helped his stomach wasn't swimming with nausea, being able to keep food down was going a long way in helping him move and rely less on Jaskier.

It feels a bit odd to see everyone in his kitchen, table laden with food but no holiday having prompted the move from the Wolf to here and with a pang Geralt tries not to think of Christmas a few months past. Back when things had looked so promising, when he'd held such hope for Jaskier and now he fears a relapse lurks closer than before and he's doing nothing but inviting it closer.

"You ok?" Jaskier's words are hot in his ear and Geralt realizes he'd stopped in the middle of the kitchen, seeming to stare blankly, for how long he didn't know.

"Mmm." Geralt assures and finishes moving to the table, taking his seat. Ciri happily claims the one across from Jaskier, on his other side, and the others drift to their chairs as well.

The familiar rhythm of passing plates is started and Geralt resists the urge to nudge the walker just a bit further away so it won't be in his peripheral. 

"Some flower's been asking after you." Lambert announces, Geralt and Jaskier the only ones confused at the table, the others giving him looks that Geralt can't entirely decipher. 

"Going a bit Alice in Wonderland are we?" Jaskier jokes, accepting his plate back, cheeks pinking as his stomach rumbles and Geralt grins widely, clearly having heard but the furthest thing from disgusted.

Lambert frowns at him with a look that implores _him_ to not be stupid. 

"He means Rose and Lorelei." Triss supplies.

"Oh." Jaskier nods. "Oh." There's a shifting around the table, glances sliding from Jaskier to Geralt who hates that he's just as lost. 

"They said to tell you hi and that they hope you get feeling better soon and that they look forward to seeing you play again." Triss continues slowly, fingers twisting in her cuffs.

"Oh." This time it's tinged with surprise and a small smile, Jaskier burying his grin in a bite and Geralt decides to talk to him about it later. Jaskier should get out, _needs_ to get out and not just to the Wolf, to see Macee. To remember that there's more to his world than caring for him.

"How's everything else? If you drop the receipts by I can work the books." Geralt offers, having no doubt they'd all stayed long after their scheduled shifts trying to keep everything updated.

This time when there's a shifting around the table the looks have nowhere to land and one place in particular to avoid. "Don't worry about it. We've got it under control." Yennefer assures him finally.

Geralt nods tightly, the meager amount he'd managed so far congealing unpleasantly inside him and he thinks this dinner is going to end much like the one of his homecoming had, with him in the bathroom, shame burning through him as he makes a mess he’s no hope of cleaning.

They didn't need him, they were running the Wolf more than just fine without him.

Conversation stutters back, bit of happenings he doesn’t quite follow and not only because Yennefer’s words eat away at each thought, reminding him if he forgets for even a few moments. These are things the others have already discussed, the beginning of the story or the update having been shared sometime at the Wolf, where he normally would have heard it as well.

Still, Geralt nods along, slightly delayed as the longer dinner goes on the more he finds himself taking cues from the others when a response is needed to be mimed. He manages to get most of his plate down, a serving larger than his stomach is used, but the others had made it like normal and Geralt tries to convince himself there’s comfort in them remembering something of him.

It wasn’t that Geralt hadn’t caught the concerned looks Jaskier had been giving him through dinner, it was that he didn’t know how to explain his reckoning had come and he could only meet it standing on his own two feet while clinging to his walker. 

Geralt finally forces himself to look at Jaskier, offering a smile that’s too tight and empty, wondering how he’s going to tell him, how he can make Jaskier understand he knows their day is coming too and Geralt won’t blame him, just as he doesn’t the others. 

“Do you always carry a to-go box from the bar with you?” Yennefer teases Eskel as they start clearing the table. 

Eskel shifts, eyes flicking to Jaskier. “It’s for Betty.”

Jaskier’s eyes blow wide at the explanation, rising he moves towards the island where Eskel is. “I haven’t seen her since–” Though he cuts himself off, the words are easily filled in, _the Patty’s Parade_. 

“She called me once she read about the accident in the paper, didn’t want to bother you.” Eskel explains slowly, uncertainty clear in his words and though Geralt doesn’t turn from where Ciri is tracing the nubs of the latest bracelets she’d made him and Jaskier, he can feel their eyes on him.

“I will call her this week.” Jaskier says, whether to Eskel as a message or a decision to himself, it’s unclear in the tone. 

Geralt knew he was broken and you didn’t clutter your life up with broken things.

o~O~o

"You should." Geralt starts, the house quiet around them, Jaskier pressed close. Since that first night, he'd slept pressed close to Geralt, tucked into his side until that was the only way his body knew it was time to rest. But now, their second bed is smaller, an intimacy that would feel forced if not already mutually sought each night. 

"Is this like one of those car games? Do I fill in the end with some clever adventure that ends with 'you should' back and forth?" Jaskier teases, though he has more than strong suspicion of what Geralt truly means, had seen it in the looks he'd been giving him since dinner. Had watched him spend the evening turning the idea over and over, waiting until he could voice it, until the dark afforded them the space impending slumber rejoined.

"You should get out, see Macee, go to the music store." Geralt offers before hesitantly adding, "Play at the Wolf." 

Protests volunteer themselves in objection, but part of Jaskier thinks Geralt needs this just as much as he thinks Jaskier does. Jaskier knowing too well what it feels like to be cared for, to be relegated to the house and feel like you're holding others hostage with you but also the indescribable feeling that comes from the trust of being left on your own, of someone else having faith that you're well enough to not need keeping.

"Definite maybe." Jaskier allows, the concept as inviting as it is daunting.

"Jaskier." Geralt rumbles and Jaskier hears it, the hurt that heralds Geralt has mistaken his refusal, believing himself to be a burden, a notion Jaskier had desperately worked to nullify.

"If I start plotting it out now I won't sleep and Macee will certainly not appreciate a non-emergent text at this hour." The not-quite lie coming easy. In truth, he wanted time to think. The new medication seemed to be working far better than the previous one but Jaskier had yet to shake the trepidation it would prove otherwise and now there was a possibility Geralt would be alone when it did.

"Hmm." Geralt agrees, arm tightening where it's wrapped around Jaskier, who is all too happy to be held closer.

o~O~o

Jaskier jerks awake at the sound of a phone ringing, the dark momentarily disorienting and tricking him into believing he's in another place in time. Just as quickly as Geralt's rumble grounds him, a new panic sets in at his alarmed, "Yennefer?"

Jaskier scrambles from the bed, limbs tangled in sheets as his mind races ahead to what they need to go, where keys and wallet and shoes are.

Whether he'd heard Jaskier's struggle or didn't trust his own mind between the meds and the late hour, Yennefer's voice rings from the room, Geralt having switched to speakerphone.

"-you so late." At the sound of her calm voice, Jaskier stutters to a halt, hand pressed to his chest as he wills his heart to slow, wills his mind to accept there's no reason to panic. 

"Are you ok? What do you need?" Geralt, having momentarily abandoned the phone on the bed, is making his careful way to sitting. 

Jaskier is torn, knowing Geralt is in no shape to be racing over to Yennefer's but she had called and there was no other option besides going in Geralt’s mind.

The silence that answers is daunting, too many possibilities all too eager to fill it, but somehow, worse than them all, is the soft whimper of, "Pama?"

Jaskier watches as Geralt goes weak with relief, seeming to recognize this type of call from previous experience, his voice gentle as he says, "Hey little cub, what's got you up so late?" 

Holding out a hand, he invites Jaskier closer, _wants_ him closer and Jaskier goes, the floor cold under his bare feet.

"I had a nightscare." The word is rounded, said around tears and distance and a fear that even her mom wasn't able to soothe.

Geralt doesn't correct her, just offers solidarity, "Nightscares are scary, but they're not real."

Ciri starts crying in earnest then, her protest and explanation drowning in her tears and Yennefer's voice returns. "I'm really sorry but I don't think she's going to be ok until she sees you."

"We'll be over." Geralt says and Jaskier knows he would risk the permanent damage such a reckless venture would cost him for Ciri, for any who needed him.

Jaskier can hear Yennefer trying to think of a way to decline the offer that won't hurt him, to fit the concern in so that it overpowers the pain of being reminded he's physically unable to go to those he loves in their time of need.

"Why don't I come get you? Bring you both back here." Jaskier offers, mind scrambling for some way to make this less about Geralt and more about Ciri. "My mom always said changing the outlook would change the inlook." 

"She's right. If that's ok of course." Yennefer hurriedly adds, Jaskier appreciating her caution.

"Of course. You're always welcome here." Geralt is quick to assure but there's a slump to his shoulders, for all that they needed him, he couldn't be all that they needed.

"We go see pama?" Ciri's teary voice is muffled, Jaskier picturing her tucked into Yennefer's side.

"Yeah, baby. We're leaving now, we'll be there shortly." The urge to argue rises in Jaskier, knowing that Geralt still sought those texts that confirmed his family had made it home safe, only able to rest once he was sure, but a gratefulness fills him that feels just as wrong. 

It didn't matter that Ciri would be here soon, getting the comfort and reassurance only her pama could provide, Jaskier knew the thought that edged out all else was that he'd failed.

Shifting closer, Geralt's arm wraps around Jaskier's waist, drawing him closer, pressing his cheek against Jaskier's belly as one breaths shudders after another and Jaskier cards his fingers through his hair.

"You're wrong, you know." Jaskier starts, trying to ignore the worry that prickles at Geralt so easily seeking his comfort. "Yennefer was planning on coming over here, would have just shown up on the doorstep if-"

Jaskier catches himself, Geralt didn't know how that night went, that Yennefer had made frantic call after frantic call until she found herself at their front door and a two word text summoned him at a run. 

"I weren't here." He finishes weakly.

"Hmm." Geralt rumbles, this one disbelieving. "She told you about Istredd." 

It takes Jaskier a moment to follow Geralt's thought, mistakenly thinking Yennefer believes Jaskier wouldn't agree with her calling Geralt in the middle of the night to bring her daughter over after a nightmare, especially considering the rough time they'd been having already.

Jaskier hums. "I don't think her concern lied so much in me being upset that she wanted to bring Ciri over so much as...what people who live together get up to, usually at night." 

Geralt makes a strangled noise, telling Jaskier there was no need to elaborate. "The doctor said-" Geralt starts, the words a shield that grew more worn with each day that passed, one he soon wouldn't be able to hide behind any longer.

"I don't recall her being there for that part." The lie is easy to carry, Jaskier almost distracted away from the real reason Yennefer had most likely called himself.

"Why don't I go upstairs and make sure the spare room is squared away, if she knows I've prepared it she won't refuse staying the night." Geralt nods but makes no move to release him and so Jaskier leans into his hold, happy to oblige.

o~O~o

"I'll get the door, you know she's going to need cuddles." Jaskier tells Geralt at the sound of a car door slamming and Geralt reluctantly nods. As much as he wants to meet them, even if only at the front door, he knows he's no hope of holding Ciri and so he resigns himself to waiting and listening.

"Really sorry to interrupt your night." Yennefer's voice is loud in its distance, Jaskier's assurance follows that they would be more upset if she hadn't and both ignore the implication they would never have known that threatens to render the statement moot.

"Pama?" Ciri asks so hopefully and Geralt thinks he might be sick. She'd expected him to be there and all his absence served to do was worry her.

"He's waiting for you, wanted to make sure he was the readiest for when you got here." Jaskier isn't even finished directing her before the patter of little feet picks up. 

She's dressed in her cow print pajamas, her wolf stuffed animal securely pinned under one arm and as soon as she sees him sitting on the side of the bed she's hurrying towards him. She crashes into him with a force that rocks him back, his arms around her momentarily tightening as a hot flash of pain accompanies the motion but she just squeezes harder back. 

Yennefer trails Jaskier in, tired and grateful as she watches on, dressed in an oversize t-shirt and yoga pants, her hair a riot of dark waves.

Geralt feels his shirt growing damp at the same time Ciri starts quivering in his arms, it seems whatever horrors the night had brought wouldn't be soothed by just seeing him.

Though it's against all the advice the parenting books gave, ones Yennefer had smiled softly at when she'd found them hastily stashed after Geralt had realized he was more quickly becoming a permanent part of their lives, he doesn't try to calm her with empty platitudes.

It would be ok in time, in the confirmation that whatever fears her sleeping mind had prayed upon hadn't manifested in the real world, but even if they did, her pama would always stand between her and them. No, Ciri, didn't need gentle words, she needed to be held and rocked and reassured.

"Want to tell me about your nightmare?" Geralt keeps the question light, wanting her to know she doesn't have to say.

Nuzzling harder into him, Geralt can barely make out the words and a part of him wishes he'd never asked when she says, "Bad peoples hurted you and I couldn't make them stop." 

Yennefer gives him an apologetic look at the admittance, having already learned and knew only seeing Geralt would help, Jaskier, however, looks stricken, like he may nearly cry himself. He’d been the one to convince Geralt to let Ciri see his scars, to help her understand but it seems to have only tainted the haven slumber offered. 

Geralt can see Jaskier’s mind working itself around, wondering if he’ll ever stop giving Ciri reasons to worry that are far beyond her years and though he wants to go to him, they’d both agree Ciri came first.

With the hand not rubbing comforting circles into her back, Geralt gestures towards the music note blanket folded over the back of the couch, Jaskier quickly retrieving it and passes it over. 

Geralt drapes it around Ciri’s shoulders, the throw blanket easily wrapping around her slight frame and heedless to the repercussions, he gathers her into his lap. Head bowed, arms holding her close, he counts out each measured breath, pain pounding in time with his heart. 

Cradled against his chest, Ciri’s small hand fists in his shirt, right over the scar gifted to him by Istredd, she whispers, “You lied to me, pama.” 

The accusation is softly delivered but would bring him to his knees if he were standing. With the arm not holding her in his lap, Geralt smooths back the hair that had fallen in her face, glassy green eyes peering at him with hurt betrayal.

“You said you’re not hurts no more but you _are_.” Ciri insists, features twisted in a frustrated pout. 

Geralt knows this makes perfect sense to Ciri, frustrated when one of the few people she never had to explain herself to, didn’t understand. Uncomprehending when she needed him to the most.

“My _scars_ don’t hurt anymore,” Geralt starts slowly. “But yes, I am still getting better. I’m sure your mom told you I was in an accident and I just got a bit banged up–” Geralt catches himself before he can finish with _on the inside_ , fearing what Ciri’s imagination would elaborate that into. 

“I’ll be ok, Julian is taking the best care of me.” Geralt assures her, Ciri twisting around to look at Jaskier, trusting Geralt to not let her fall.

“You promise?” Ciri doesn’t register the way Jaskier’s smile tightens on his lips, but Yennefer and Geralt do. Both knowing all their faith in him means nothing if he doesn’t believe it himself.

Jaskier’s eyes flick to Geralt’s who wills him to see all the good his attentive care has done for him, that he’s able to hold her in his arms, that he's no longer writing in pain, each movement lighting fireworks in his eyes. 

Turning back to Ciri, Jaskier vows, “I promise, Ciri, he’s getting the best care.” 

She nods solemnly, and Geralt uses the pad of his thumb to swipe away her tears as her head comes to rest against his chest, her tiny soul tired. 

Barely more than a whisper, a small frown turning down her bow lips she murmurs, “No more Witchering, pama.”

Geralt’s heart stutters in his chest, an oath poised on his lips that would just as soon be broken as it was spoken. This wasn’t something he could promise, had long since settled it with himself that he would most likely die on a call, Destiny come to take her due. 

“I can’t promise that, baby girl.” The words lodge in his throat, a brand he’ll taste each time he announces their presence on a call, a prayer for Destiny to hold off just one more time. 

Ciri huffs a noise of protest, fighting off each blink that threatens to pull her into sleep. 

Yennefer moves closer, kneeling before them she works off the soft, turquoise slippers Ciri had desperately wanted after seeing Aladin. “You know Uncle Eskel and Uncle Lambert go with, they all keep each other safe.” 

Ciri nods, mouth twisting as she fights sleep, a thought pressing through the haze that tries to lull her under. “Be safe, pama, no more ouchies.” 

Geralt smiles softly at that, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head he murmurs, “I’ll try.” 

Her brow wrinkles and he’s certain if it weren’t for sleep’s hold upon her she would press for a better promise but as it is, between one breath and the next, her features smooth into the peace of slumber’s haven once more renewed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you thought last chapter with Ciri seeing his scars was bad...  
> And even I'm not going to try and pass that off as fluff, mayhaps Flangst? I mean there was that bit there in the beginning which has probably been shredded to nothing and then right there at the end. Mabye?  
> Feel a bit like the Virgil of your feels, just leading you one level deeper into depravity with each chapter.  
> Yell at me in the comments, I understand it's cathartic (and I love it).

**Author's Note:**

> In the spirit of being honest, I don't have *this* fic done yet. 😬  
> I am still working on it! And will stick to twice a week updates and hope your reading doesn't outpace my writing. However, should that time approach, I will let you know. 
> 
> Ok, enough rambling. Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear what you think!


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